


The Sum of Our Parts

by peteor



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peteor/pseuds/peteor
Summary: "Hello? Is this thing on? Who's there-? Oh, shit, well, this is... huh. Hey Wash, long time no see."Washington's throat dries up."How... what is... how is this..." Washington takes a step back. "How is this possible?!""Geez, Wash, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.""You are supposed to be dead, Church.""Yeah, like, ten times over, bud. What's your point?"—the fic where alpha survives





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i've got about three chapters of this done, already. i'm posting the first chapter to see what kind of feedback it gets - if you guys like it or not.
> 
> i'll post the other chapters within a the week, and will continue writing it no matter what, because it's fun.
> 
> but please, please please let me know what you think. i love feedback, especially with multi-chapter fics (that i'm not used to posting).
> 
> anway, that aside... i hope you have as much fun reading this trainwreck as i had writing it.

"Alright Washington, back in your cell."

"Guard, I need to see the Commander. Now."

"Yeah, right. Why the hell would I let you do that?"

"Because I think I've just found the missing piece to his puzzle."

—

"My dear Agent Washington, I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. Do come in. I feel that we have much to discuss. 

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"You are Special Agent Washington. Former member of Project Freelancer. Also known by the designation 'Recovery One.'"

"Also known as 'Prisoner 619B.'"

"Convicted, three counts dereliction of duty, eight counts of conspiracy to commit treason, and my _personal favourite_ , seven counts destruction of protected, classified military property."

"And you are?" 

"I am someone extremely disappointed by the destruction of said property. That is all you need to know."

"...I want to make a deal. I have information that you want."

"All the information _I_ want was lost in the destruction of Project Freelancer."

"Not _all_ of it."

"Agent Washington, if you knew anything that could have kept you out of prison, I am sure it would have come to light during your trial. So, if you're quite through with wasting my time, we'll-"

"I know you're missing the Epsilon unit. And I know where to find it."

"...You have my attention."

"It disappeared after the events at Freelancer Command. You searched _everyone_ associated with the program. Even the Red Team troopers you found."

"Yes, the ones who were found bickering around the stolen Jeep."

"There's another group of soldiers. A Blue squad. _They_ escaped with Epsilon."

"I show no record of these soldiers."

"And you won't, but I know where to find them. So here's the deal. I get you that missing module, you get me out of here. I get a clean slate, and we forget we ever knew each other."

"That sounds fair."

"And I'm gonna need some equipment. Invisibility, overshields... anything left over from Freelancer."

"Anything?"

" _Anything_."

"Well. I think we can point you in the right direction for that."

"Great."

The prison Commander stood and walked over to a computer terminal at the side of the room. He typed away at some keys, and some files that Washington was too far away to read appeared on the screen. The Commander reached a finger out and flicked through the mechanical folders until he double-tapped one, opening it. Washington saw the Freelancer logo, but still couldn't read much. Still... he trusted the Commander to keep his word. After all, they weren't so different. Two men with nothing to lose and so, so much to gain.

"Now, Agent Washington, I just have one more question for you."

But Washington was lost in his head, thinking back to everything - _everything_ he was put through. Everything he'd lost. Everything he'd had taken from him just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Agent Washington."

The rage built up inside of Washington, his kevlar-clad hands making a squeaking noise as he curled his fingers into fists. Why was it _him_ that had to suffer. He was just as much a victim as the rest of those... those _Simulation Troopers_. Of all the people to betray him, to directly disobey the one order that would have _saved his life_ , he _never_ would have suspected the _Simulation Troopers_.

He had learned his lesson.

He wouldn't underestimate them this time.

"Agent Washington, are you listening to me?"

"Hm? Yes. I'm listening."  


"Agent Washington... when you _find_ these blue soldiers that you're talking about, what makes you think that they are just going to give you the Epsilon unit when you ask them for it?"

"Heh," Washington shakes his head slowly. "For as long as I can remember, I've been lied to, taken advantage of, shot in the back, and left for dead. And now, I have a way out of all of this. What in the _hell_ makes you think that I'm going to _ask_ for it?"

—

Washington hears the growling before he sees the Meta.

He says, "You have got to be kidding me," when the Commander slides open the heavy door's partition and gestures for Washington to peer inside.

Sure enough, there he is. Agent Maine, the Meta. Which one he is now, Washington isn't sure. He suspects a mix of both, when Meta growls and Washington picks up a trace of emotion there. A sort of hesitance that makes him sound almost human, yet the same aggression and body language Washington remembers seeing as he stalked him. He feels the phantom pain of a bullet in his shoulder, and then crushes his budding fear beneath his foot as he steps forward.

"Well," he says, amusement growing in the back of his throat but not quite weaving its way through his words. "Of all the things I was expecting to see, you were not it."

Meta growls, and Washington _understands_ it, and he's not sure how to feel about that.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of, either, so I guess we'll make a good team."

_Rrrrrrrr_.

Washington ignores Meta, turning to the Commander and asking, "Is this it? You seriously recovered nothing else?"

The Commander smiles like a man with a secret. "There is one more thing."

Washington waits, but when the Commander doesn't elaborate, he lifts his chin and asks, annoyed, "What is it?"

"Follow me."

And so Washington does, leaving Meta growling angrily behind him, slamming against the steel door, trying to get out. Washington makes a mental note that, if Meta still had the fragments, he would have been able to break down the door. But if the Commander is insisting he bring Meta along as a strategic advantage, Washington assumes he still has the armour enhancements.

The Commander confirms this as he guides Washington through a door, into a narrow, unlit corridor.

"I'm sure you're wondering what Agent Maine will use to power his armour enhancements."

"That is one of my many questions, yes."

"We managed to pick up another asset from the Freelancer Compound," The Commander explains, stopping in front of a sliding door with a keypad beside it. Washington watches him type in the code 4764, and then the door slides open, and both men walk inside a closet-sized room. "A stubborn thing, therefore useless to us. I have no patience for belligerent fools. But, we are hoping perhaps _you_ could convince it to cooperate."

Washington stands aside, silently, as the Commander powers on the computer. The large monitor in front of them lights up first, followed by the smaller monitors surrounding it, and soon, the entire room is powered on, casting a blue glow over everything, from Washington's armour to the dust floating through the air.

The computer flickers, and then white letters are appearing on every screen, accompanied by a voice.

"Hello? Is this thing on? Who's there-? Oh, shit, well, this is... huh. Hey Wash, long time no see."

Washington's throat dries up.

"How... what is... how is this..." Washington takes a step back. "How is this possible?!"

"Geez, Wash, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You are supposed to be _dead_ , Church."

"Yeah, like, ten times over, bud. What's your point?"

"No- I mean- this is-" Washington stutters, turning to the Commander, who looks very pleased at Washington's sudden and complete loss of composure. "How is this _possible_?!"

"Admittedly, we aren't sure," the Commander replies, clasping his hands together. "Our current theory is that the EMP just wasn't powerful enough to destroy the original artificial intelligence program, only the smaller fragments and, of course, all the Freelancer computer systems. A Smart A.I. was just too much for the magnetic pulse to destroy completely. We have been piecing the Alpha back together ever since we recovered you all, and it finally regained consciousness a few weeks ago."

"What were you planning on doing with him?"

"We were still deciding on what to use its skills on, specifically," the Commander says. "However, none of that is important, now. The Alpha program is officially in your care. You will use it to power Agent Maine's armour whenever necessary, through power transfer, but I would prefer it remain in your armour, for obvious reasons."

"You don't want Meta to have another A.I. under its control."

"Precisely. Now, I will leave you two alone to get re-acquainted, while I brief Agent Maine," the Commander steps back, out into the hallway. "From what I know of your history, I ask that you please behave yourselves."

Washington says, "Concern yourself with controlling Meta. I'll deal with the Alpha."

"I'll deal with your _face_."

The Commander glances at the computer screen. "...I will send a guard to retrieve you once we receive notice of the Alpha's transfer from our terminal to your helmet. We will meet at the vehicle hangar, where I will finalize our agreement, and give you your official mission objective. Affirmative?"

Washington nods. "Yes, sir."

As soon the door slides closed, Washington whirls around and marches up to the computer, staring in open awe.

"You're alive."

"So are you," Church replies, sounding giddy. "I asked about you, but nobody was telling me shit! They just kept trying to hack me to re-calibrate some whatchamadoogies."

"What."

"Fucking- I don't know, but it _hurt_ ," Church whines. "Who knew being a computer program would suck so hard?"

"Computer- wait... what do you know? More importantly, what do _they_ know you know?"

The screen is blank for a few long seconds, before Church replies, "I don't really know, actually. It's all just really confusing memory flashes. But I hide all that shit behind those little brick walls, so those guys can't see any of it."

"Little brick... you mean firewalls?"

"Sure? Like I said, I don't know what I'm doing," Church laughs. "And Hargrove expects me to run a suit of armour with like ten enhancements. Yeah, right. It took all my energy to build those walls around my memories, how am I supposed to turn a guy invisible?!"

"Well you're going to have to figure it out," Washington snaps. "We have a mission to get on with, and I need your help."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Church groans. "I can't just go around using my awesome and badass skills to save the world whenever you say so, Wash. My capacity to help other people isn't all that big. And, in case you forgot, I kind of hate you."

Washington shrugs. "Alright then. If you won't come with me, don't expect me to show your friends any mercy."

"My fr- What do _they_ have to do with this?!"

Washington slams his hands down on the computer terminal.

"Hey, that hurts, asshole! What's your problem?!"

"My _problem_?!" Washington cries. "You want to know my _problem_?! Those _idiots_ ruined my _life_!"

"Yeah, they're good at that. What'd they do this time?"

Washington almost tells him everything, but figures there will be time for that, later. So for the time being, he takes a deep breath and replies, "The usual. Now, are you going to help me? Or am I going to go to those bases of theirs with the Meta in tow to get answers _my way_?"

A beat of silence.

"How did you manage to get _crazier_ since I last saw you?"

"I'm not crazy."

"Whatever you say, buddy."

Washington asks, "Are you coming or not?"

"Of course I am," Church says with a huff. "If you're going to take me to my friends, then you can count me in. But if you go all revenge-crazy on them, I will self-destruct your armour and kill both of our sorry asses."

"You can't self-destruct my armour, Church."

"Uh, yeah, I totally can. Unless you changed your armour since I last saw you, you've got a self-destruct sequence. Well- less of a sequence, and more of a big red button that says 'Property of Project Freelancer.'"

Washington pulls his helmet off and looks around inside, paranoia going through the roof. "You're not serious."

"Of course I'm not! Holy shit," Church cackles. "I can't believe you fell for that! You are so fucking gullible!"

Washington shoves his helmet back on and kicks the computer terminal hard enough to dent it.

"God motherfucking dammit- that _hurts_!"

"Good."

"You are a fucking _psychopath_!"

"Well _you're_ a piece of _shit_."

Church yells, "Will you just transfer me to your armour so you can't assault me anymore?!"

Wash kneels down on a knee and tears open the computer terminal box, looking around until he sees a little chip with a tiny **α** engraved on it. "New home?"

"Yeah, they had to put me in one of those to get me back," Church explains. "Don't ask me for details, 'cause I wasn't technically alive for that part. It's kinda cool, though, because all the shit in that chip is mine and mine only. Like my own room, or something. It's where I keep, uh, stuff I don't want anyone to know about."

Washington raises his eyebrow. "Such as..?"

"Did you not hear me? 'Cause I said 'stuff I don't want anyone to know about,' and last I checked, 'anyone' means you."

"No need to get defensive, I'm not going to push it. Just thought you might want to share, since we're going to be spending a lot of time together from here on out, and we should put everything on the table to avoid any incidents."

"Well I'm not telling you shit, so just transfer me."

Washington shrugs a shoulder and yanks the chip. He feels around the back of his helmet until he finds the insert point. When he slips it in, he hears his implants start whirring away, making a pained sound, like an old computer starting up for the first time in years.

Church immediately starts coughing in Washington's ear.

"Oh, man, it is _dusty_ in here!" Church wheezes. "You could have warned me!"

"I didn't know it would effect you," Washington replies, standing up and blinking hard a few times, trying to fight through his disorientation. "Sorry."

"Whatever, I'll fix it up."

And sure enough, Washington's dizziness clears and the whirring quiets. He feels something pulse against his skull, and then Church starts talking again.

"Okay, this should do," he says. "I sorted some stuff out... you _really_ don't take care of yourself, dude, like for fuck's sake, your mind's a mess-"

"You shouldn't be in my head, get out," Washington says through gritted teeth, standing rigid. "Stay in my helmet."

"Oh, come on, Wash, this is nothing I haven't seen before," Church replies cheekily. "And apparently, you need me in here to tidy everything. This place looks ransacked!"

"Yeah, and that's how I like it-"

Washington feels a rush of pain slam against the inside of his temples, and then his eyes roll up in his head. He collapses on all fours on the ground, slamming his hands against the floor and growling low in the back of his throat. "What the hell was that?!"

"Shit! Sorry," Church mumbles. "Accidentally tripped over some stuff, uh... yeah, just gonna put that back into the 'repressed' bin, ha ha, see? No harm done."

"Church, get the _fuck_ out!"

Washington sighs with relief when he feels Church withdraw, his body returning to a more normal state. He stands upright just in time for the door to open and two guards to walk in, guns raised.

"Come with us." One of them says, grabbing Washington by the bicep and re-holstering his pistol.

Church appears over Washington's shoulder. "Hey, don't be so harsh, we _want_ to go where you're taking us, dickhead."

Washington grumbles, "Shut up, Church."

"Hey, you're actually talking," the second guard jeers, poking his finger through Church's hologram. "That's a surprise."

"You know what's a surprise?" Church snaps. "You're still wear a wedding ring."

Washington says, deadpan, "Would _now_ be a good time to remind you that they have guns?"

"I'm a hologram, dude, they can't shoot me."

"Well that doesn't make _me_ feel any better."

"Who gives a shit about you? You're not the one trash-talking mister tiny-dick over there," Church jerks his thumb over at the tense, frowning guard behind him. "Besides, if they shoot you, they're gonna get in trouble from the Commander. You're higher rank than them, now, they just don't want you to know it."

The second guard spits, "Why, you loose-lipped little-"

The first guard grabs his partner by the arm before he can lunge at Washington and Church and yells, "Hey, chill out, man!"

Washington half-turns to stare at the two guards. "Don't touch me for the rest of the trip to the hangar, and I won't tell the Commander about your unprofessional, short-tempered friend, here. 

The first guard grumbles and elbows the second, muttering, "Way to go, Carl," before saying, to Washington, "Sounds fair. But no funny business."

"Like Alpha said," Washington half-shrugs. "We're all going to the same place."

Church, inside Washington's helmet, says, "See? I know what I'm talking about."

Washington rolls his eyes and stalks to the hangar in silence.

—

Waiting by a Jeep is the Commander and Meta. The guards stop by the entrance and nod in the direction of the Jeep. Washington nods at them and descends the ramp to the giant lot, footsteps loud against the thin sheets of steel beneath them, echoing in the silence of the warehouse-like area.

Washington stops in front of Meta and tilts his head up to stare him in the eye. "So," he says. "Are you going to work with me?"

_RrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRhissssss_.

"Yes, I have the Alpha," Washington replies. "But you'll be unhappy to hear that it is useless, and will be for quite a while," he turns to the Commander. "I'm starting to think you just want me to take it off your hands. I can hardly see how a program that doesn't even know how to put up a firewall is supposed to power advanced military armour enhancements."

"You are a very resourceful man, Agent," the Commander says. "I would hope it takes more than a prison sentence to strip you of that valuable trait."

"I suppose I should thank you for the compliment."

"I _suppose_ you should get going," the Commander gestures to the Jeep. "Before I change my mind. All the weapons you had on your person when you were arrested are in the trunk of your vehicle. Remember, retrieve the Epsilon unit, and return my resources to me along with it. If I have even the slightest suspicion that you are straying from your path, I will send my men to... remind you what is on the line."

Washington turns to Meta and nods to the driver's seat. The Commander raises his eyebrow, as if he's surprised, as Meta climbs into the driver's seat and revs the engines. Washington, meanwhile, hops up onto the back of the Jeep and takes hold of the gun.

"You know, if I was anyone else, I'd ask why you're letting the monster drive," Church says into Washington's ear. "But after spending a year driving around with you? I'm just gonna accept this."

"I'm not a bad driver."

"You sent us over at least ten cliffs in the first _month_."

"That's because cars hate me," Washington grumbles, giving the Commander one last nod before Meta pulls out of the hangar at break-neck speed. Washington tightens his grip on the turret and digs in his heels to keep from falling off, saying, through gritted teeth, "And I'm pretty sure cliffs might hate me, too."

"Yeah, yeah, the _whole world_ hates you, we get it," Church snarks, before appearing over Meta's shoulder. "Hey, big guy, can you slow it down? The guys we're chasing aren't going anywhere. Trust me."

_Rrrr_.

"Cool, thanks."

The second Church re-appears over Washington's shoulder, Washington asks, "You can understand him?"

"Yup," Church replies. "Don't really know how or why. Maybe it's another weird memory thing."

"That could be it," Washington says. "Speaking of that, when we get some downtime, I'd like to talk to you about those 'weird memory things.'"

" _Great_ , I can't _wait_ for _that_ conversation."

"I need to know, Church."

"Whatever, buddy," Church says, disinterested. He looks around. "Hey, where are we going, anyway? Back to Blood Gulch?"

"No," Washington mutters. "They have _new bases_ , now. Given to them by the UNSC."

"Aw, man, that's not good," Church says nervously. "Without me around to say no, Caboose is probably gonna get a drum set. Well, I guess Tucker's there to stop him. Problem is, Caboose doesn't listen to Tucker-"

"Tucker?" Washington glances over at Church. "Who's Tucker?"

"He's another Blue, from Blood Gulch," Church explains. "He didn't come with us on the stupid mission last year, but if the guys are all back at one base, I'm assuming he's there too, right?"

"Caboose said he had his 'own place,' so I don't think so."

"What? Then where is he?"

"Well, I _would_ be able to check, except your friends decided to erase the Blues and all their data from the system, remember? He could be anywhere."

"Oh. Well that sucks."

"For you, maybe. As far as I'm concerned, the less of you I meet, the better."

Church folds his arms. "You know, they're not _that_ bad."

"You don't know anything, Church," Washington says through his teeth. "If those morons you call teammates had just done what I had _specifically_ told them to, I would be _home_ right now, do you understand? _Home_. Not some other base, not some other team, and certainly not _prison_. I would have been honorably discharged; made a _hero_ for bringing down such a corrupt system, and then I would be able to go home. No more revenge plots, no more of," Washington gestures around them, " _This_. But because Caboose decided to keep hold of the Epsilon unit, which was every piece of evidence needed to free me, I was put on trial with nothing to testify with but my word. And you can see how well _that_ went."

Church flickers out, and Washington tightens his grip on the turret handles.

Meta looks back and growls.

"Of course I'm frustrated," Washington snaps. "You would be too, if you were in my position. I just want my life back."

Church appears right in front of Washington's visor.

"Okay, since your whining is gonna get old fast, I'm gonna give a wicked-awesome motivational speech, and you're gonna take it to heart," Church says, arms folded and head held high. "When you got recruited by Project Freelancer, you gave your life _away_. You gave up David for Washington by _choice_ , knowing there was probably gonna be no take-backs. I put my goddamn life on the line for an insane motherfucker who would destroy everything in his path to avenge the people he cares about, not some rebellious brat with frosted tips and a family that couldn't give less of a shit about him. Take a look at yourself, Wash! What _life_ is there to go _back_ to?!"

Meta is looking in the rear-view mirror, silently observing, face no-doubt as blank beneath his domed helmet as his visor reflecting the evening sunlight. Washington tilts his head downwards and hopes Church can _feel_ his glare.

"Look," Church continues with a sigh. "I know what it's like to have something within reach, but at the last minute have it torn from you over and over and _over_ again. It sucks, and it makes you desperate, and reckless, and fucking _pissed off_. But at the end of the day, life can't get any better, and it can't get any worse. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can let go of the past, and do everything you can to try to make your future as bearable as possible."

Washington scoffs. "That's your 'wicked-awesome' speech? Some half-assed words strung together with some moral theme about making the future decent enough to deal with? I don't know if you've forgotten, Church, but you aren't even supposed to _have_ a future. You were supposed to _die_ in that room."

"But I'm _here_!" Church throws his hands out. "For some reason, be it cosmic coincidence or a motherfuckin'  _G_ _od_ up there, we're both _here_ , in this car, riding off into the sunset with this freak of nature," The Meta growls, offended, "Off to track down people who I thought I'd never see again. Hell, I'll bet my life that Tucker's already found his way back too, somehow, or is at least on his way."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, _this_ is your life now, for whatever reason. Maybe karma, maybe God, maybe because everyone you ever trusted stabbed you in the back and left you for dead. Who cares why? What matters is that you can't go back to who you were. You've just got to get on with who you're going to be."

Washington says, "Well I can't get on with _anything_ until I clear my name."

"I know," Church replies with a shrug. "Which is why we're on this mission, isn't it?"

"...yeah," Washington mumbles after a minute. "I guess it is."

They drive on for another half-mile in silence, until Church breaks it with a fist pump and a quiet: "Booyah! Motivational speech never fails."

Washington can't help but snort at that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter two!
> 
> i've got 6 chapters banged out, and am writing more, so i'll be updating every other day until i run out of material for you guys, then the updates will come as i write them.
> 
> please let me know what you think :) and stay tuned for more!

Washington receives the notification that his cR account has been unlocked at 22:54. He pulls it open and checks his balance.

"Good," he says to himself, then leans forward to talk to Meta. "Hey, let's pull over at the next outpost. I have enough credits to get some gas and food."

_Ssssssssssss_.

"We'll have to see what the Commander packed for us, in terms of ammo, but I'm sure I can afford all we need."

Church flickers into sight. "Wait, ammo? I thought I told you not to go revenge-crazy on them. I can't self-destruct, but I _can_ lock the shit out of your armour."

Washington says, "Relax. We don't know what we're going to run into on our way. It's just in case of emergency."

"It better be."

—

Meta pulls them over at a UNSC outpost with a visible gas station and weapons supply shop. It looks relatively abandoned, which is good, because while Washington may technically have nothing to hide anymore, he still gets set on-edge around military personnel.

While Meta sets the Jeep up at the gas tank, Washington checks the trunk. Inside is his battle rifle and Meta's brute shot, as well as a handful of grenades and flash-explosives that Washington somewhat remembers being taken from him months ago. He collects everything and arms himself, before tossing Meta his weapon. He catches the heavy machine as if it were light as a pillow and grunts.

"You're welcome," Washington replies. "You fill up the tank, I'll go in, pay, and get all our supplies. Maybe even find a place to stay for the night."

_Grrr_.

"Yes, if possible, I'll find a bed big enough for you," Washington rolls his eyes and says, under his breath as he walks away, "Big baby."

"They probably have accommodations for Spartans here," Church adds, not projecting himself but speaking in Washington's helmet. Washington wonders if he might be nervous confronting the military, too. He wouldn't be surprised, seeing as what he's been put through for the sake of said military. "They do at most outposts, if I remember right."

"Meta isn't a Spartan."

"Yeah, but he's about as big as one."

"...true," Washington hums. "We'll have to see."

Church makes a noise of affirmation and then retracts, going quiet as Washington pulls open the gas station door. The soldier at the counter is wearing a standard-issue UNSC Army uniform, equipped with body armour, but Washington in his full armour still appears two times her size. She greets him with a smile, and he replies with a nod.

He asks her, "Can I make wireless payments, here?"

She nods. "Yeah, I'll just need to punch in your account number."

"Good," Washington replies, and then gives her the number. "I'll pay for the gas at pump four. Also, I'll take any non-perishable food items you have. Cheaper the better."

"Alright..." she says absently as she taps away at the computer screen. "Marine Corps, huh? And an ex-Freelancer?" She glances up at him. "The armor should have been a dead giveaway. What was your codename?"

Washington replies, dryly, "Forgive me for not wanting to disclose that information."

The girl presses her lips together and nods. Some of her hair falls loose from behind her ear as she does so, draping over her face, making her look younger. "Got it. Well, Agent Whoever, I've got about two crates of MREs I want to get rid of. Won't cost you much, and it's a surplus. Should last you until the end of whatever mission you're on."

"I'll take them."

She nods and rings them up. Washington pulls his account open on his HUD and watches the money transfer, just to make sure. Then she excuses herself and comes back in with two substantial crates of MREs. He helps her double-check the package dates on each stack, before accepting them.

"One more thing," Washington says. "You wouldn't happen to have a place for us to stay for the night, would you?"

"Yeah, we've got some old barracks," she replies. "I'm not certified to grant you access, though. You'll have to head into the weapons store to talk to my C.O."

"Alright, I was heading there anyway. Thank you."

"No problem, sir. Have a nice night."

Washington doesn't reply, just pushes the door open with his shoulder, due to his hands being full. Meta looks up over the open hood of the Jeep. Washington nods in the direction of the weapons shop, so Meta slams the hood back down and approaches him.

Washington asks, "What were you doing, over there?"

Meta grunts.

"I'm sure everything's fine," Washington replies. "And if we do happen to break down, I saw a toolkit in the trunk where our weapons were."

_Rrrrr_.

"I agree." Washington hands Meta the rations crates. "Take these back to the car. I'm going to talk to the person in charge about a place to stay. And yes, I'll ask about your bed."

Meta nods and turns back to the car, holding both crates in one hand effortlessly. Washington watches him put the crates in the back corner, out of the way of Washington's feet, but not in the trunk because they're unlikely to fit. Satisfied, Washington walks over to the weapons shop and steps in without a second thought.

Weapons are easy. Washington can talk weapons.

"Hi there," Washington says, laying his battle rifle out on the counter. "Have any ammo for this model?"

The C.O., a short, burly man who wears several badges on his breast, picks up Washington's gun and runs his gaze over it.

"Sure," he replies after a few seconds. "But I've also got an upgraded version, if you want."

"That depends," Washington replies, cR account still open in the corner of his HUD. "I've got a long trip to make, so I'd like to spend money on things worth my while."

"Smart man," the C.O. half-smiles and holds his hand out. "Captain Witt."

Washington doesn't shake his hand. "Sorry, sir, I'm not here to make friends."

Witt drops his hand, but doesn't look offended. "Alright then, mister, what _are_ you here for?"

"I need some ammo, and I'd like to take a look at this upgrade you mentioned. Also a place to stay for me and my friend, but I'd like to prioritize."

"You know what, pal?" Witt says with a smile. "I can get you what you want, but if you're gonna be staying in my outpost, even for a night, I'm going to need at least a name out of you."

Witt holds his hand out again, and this time, Washington takes it.

"You can call me Carvalho."

"You got a rank, Carvalho?"

Washington has to struggle to remember. "...Corporal."

"Corporal Carvalho," Witt guffaws. "That's a mouthful! Mind if I just call you Carvalho?"

"Call me whatever you want," Washington replies. "Can I just see the gun?"

Witt chuckles and shakes his head. "Right on that wall over there... follow me."

He squeezes his wide belly through the small space between the counter and the wall. Washington follows, impatiently, as Witt lumbers over to the rifle section of the large store and picks one up off the wall. He hands it to Washington.

"Come on," Witt says excitedly. "Let's go compare it to your old piece of junk."

Church is immediately amused at Washington's wave of anger at his gun being referred to as a 'piece of junk.' Washington ignores his snickering and heads back to the counter, bouncing the gun in his hands, trying to get a feel for it. His trigger finger feels more comfortable, since this new one allows room for his thumb and fingers around the grip piece, and it has some parts surrounding the trigger itself, so that when Washington relaxes, his finger is still in position, ready to fire.

He checks the scope, though he barely uses it, and is amazed by the difference. It's nothing close to a sniper rifle, but it's leagues better than _his_ rifle, which is more like looking through out-of-focus binoculars than a military-grade weapon scope. Then again, isn't that why Washington is so good at shooting? Because he can never rely on his scope?

He has an uneasy feeling about buying this new rifle, but at the same time, who's to say he can't keep his old one, too? And by the looks of the prices on the ammo wall behind the counter, the newer models have more bullets to the buck.

And he has to admit, the new rifle looks way better. While aesthetics and sentimental value don't usually factor into the decisions Washington makes, he really does take pride in his guns.

He looks down at his old rifle on the counter, at every notch and chip that tell stories Washington can barely remember, and makes his decision.

"I'll take it."

The old rifle has been through enough.

Washington picks the old rifle up and empties it of the pathetic amount of ammo it had left over, before sticking it to his back. Witt doesn't comment, doesn't ask why Washington wants to keep that 'piece of junk,' and for that, Washington can respect him.

Witt rings up the ammo and the gun, and once again, Washington watches the money empty from his account. If he's still as good at math as he used to be, they've got enough for gas money but not much else.

Witt asks, "You said you were looking to stay the night, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You and your... friend?"

"Yes," Washington says. "Speaking of my friend, we may need the biggest bed you have, if possible."

"Well, sure thing," Witt says, moseying over to the front door of the shop with Wash in tow, carrying his purchases. "Who's your... friend..."

Meta, who has been waiting outside, looms over Witt and growls.

“He's on our side, relax," Washington says to Meta, putting himself between the two of them. He turns to Witt. "Sorry about that, he's not very friendly."

Witt whistles low. "Yeah, alright. Is he, uh, friendly _enough_?"

_Rrrrrrrr_.

"He says you should ask _him_ ," Washington says. "He's mute, not deaf."

Witt scratches his head and addresses Meta with a nervous laugh. "Sorry, pal. You're not gonna kill me in my sleep or anything, are you?"

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrsssssssss_.

"Not if he has a comfortable bed," Washington translates. At the way Witt's face pales, Washington has to add, "He's joking, by the way. I know that doesn't translate well. He's not the joking type."

"O-Oh, no worries," Witt says, giving a thumbs-up. His hand is trembling. Washington smirks. "I'll just go send Private Buckner to organize everything for you, while you get all your gear sorted. Go down that road," he points at a side road going up beside the gas station store where Washington got his MREs. "Turn left, and you'll see the barracks. They're standard, you'll recognize them." He smiles up at Meta. "We've got some Spartan quarters attached to them, so you'll have enough room."

Church speaks up for the first time in what feels like ages. "I just keep being right about things. I am amazing. Everyone should listen to me. I am a fountain of fucking wisdom."

"Excellent, thank you," Washington replies to Witt, ignoring Church. "We'll be around shortly. We won't forget how you've treated us, sir. You've been very helpful."

Church says, "You need to work on your tone, dude. You make a sincere thank you sound like a threat."

Washington aggressively whispers, "Well _you_ need to work on being _quiet_."

"No way, I'm the smartest guy here! Everyone _else_ should be quiet so I can get shit done."

Meta nudges Washington enough to jolt him back to the external world. Witt is gone, so Washington regains his grip on his purchases and follows Meta to the vehicle.

_Rrrrrrrrr_.

"No, he's not giving me a hard time," Washington promises. "He's just being his usual, annoying self."

"Annoying? Fuck you, I'm not annoying!"

"You're extremely annoying," Washington states. "And you can't seem to wrap your head around the fact that people around me _can't hear you_ most of the time, so when you talk to me in public, I _can't reply to you_."

Church cries, "Well I can't just start appearing willy-nilly! You might not be up to sleazy shit anymore, but the only reason I'm not a wanted military asset is because people think I was destroyed along with everything else! If the UNSC knew I was alive, they'd take me back and make me do... stuff."

"Stuff."

"Crappy stuff, I don't know," Church snaps indignantly. "I haven't remembered that part, yet. I just know it sucked. The UNSC sucks."

"You're preaching to the choir," Wash mutters, grabbing a folded duffel bag from a pouch along the side of the Jeep's turret. He puts his new rifle in, first, and then all the ammo. He sees Meta's weapon lying in the back, left alone while Meta starts the engines. "Shit. Remind me to buy Meta some extra ammo tomorrow, before we leave. I forgot."

"Ammo for a grenade launcher," Church rolls his eyes. "Could he _get_ a more expensive weapon?"

"Don't talk back, just remind me," Wash says harshly. "You can do that, can't you? Just set some reminder or something?"

"Yeah, geez, alright," Church says, then mutters under his breath, "Must have hit some nerve."

_That's a good look._

"Just set the goddamn reminder."

"Buddy, I did that, like, five seconds after you told me to. You gotta have more faith in me and my awesome robot skills."

"Should I?"

"Damn right."

"Okay then," Washington says, jumping onto the back of the Jeep. "Run diagnostics on Meta, see if you can figure out what enhancements he's got, and how we can use them in combat. I'd like to know which ones can effect things - or people - other than Meta, and which can't. That way-"

"I said _more_ faith," Church backpedals. "Like, take that zero up to a two on the 'AI shit Church can do' scale."

"A scale."

"Yeah, like, of what I can do. 'One' is firewalls. 'Ten' is armor enhancements."

"And 'two' is reminders?"

"Yeah!"

Washington doesn't reply. He leans forward and tells Meta to "Get going," and then they're driving, following the directions given to them by Witt. Washington keeps his eyes open, searching for the barracks.

"There," Washington sees them and points Meta in the direction of a smaller, domed building with the UNSC flag flying in the late-night wind. It's the only place with the outside lights on; a standard UNSC barracks building. Meta cuts the engine and jumps out, grabbing his weapon. Washington jumps out after him, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "Let's go check it out."

Meta nods and takes the lead, Wash falling naturally into step behind him like he had with Maine back in Freelancer. He thinks maybe he should move ahead, or beside Meta now, so he won't associate things with Maine, but it makes sense to keep behind him. Washington has the most valuable assets, after all.

Like a brain.

And Church, who will be very important in convincing the Reds and Blues to hand Epsilon over, since Washington isn't going to be able to orchestrate Plan A, which was to run in and shoot as many people as possible to scare the others into revealing Epsilon.

The only thing inside the barracks is the girl from the station store, who Washington assumes is Private Buckner. She's just finishing making the beds, by the looks of it, and Meta growls happily when he sees the exceptionally large bed made up for him across the room. Part of Washington is happy that his bed isn't directly beside Meta, but the other part is anxious that Meta will get up to something without Washington directly close by.

"Sir," Buckner says, addressing Washington with a rigid back and a salute. Washington waves his arm tiredly and she relaxes, a smile on her face. "Is everything set up how you like it?"

"It's fine, thanks," Washington replies, dumping his bag at the foot of his bed, then pausing, still clinging onto the handles, and picks it up again. "Actually, can you direct me to your storage lockers?"

Buckner gives Washington a once-over and nods, turning on her heel and bouncing off to a small hallway that leads into another room. Washington follows, keeping his grip tight on the bag.

"Don't you think you're being a _little_ paranoid?" Church asks. "This place is abandoned, nobody's gonna sneak in while you're asleep and steal your shit. And if they try, I'll be awake to stop them."

Washington stays quiet. He's not going to tell Church he doesn't trust him, mostly because, judging by the slightly offended tone of Church's voice, he's gathered that already. Also because if he talks to him, Buckner is going to think he's weird at best, and literally insane at worst. And then she'll tell Witt, who might want to come in and check on him during the night, and Washington can't be held accountable for what he does when he's woken up by an unfamiliar person in the middle of the night.

Buckner shows him the weapon storage area, and teaches him how to lock it down with a personal passcode. Washington thanks her curtly, and she salutes him and then rushes off, no-doubt to get some sleep, herself. Though he's not sure how long the station stays open, so maybe not.

He takes out his new rifle and hangs it on an empty hook, and then plucks his old one from his back and hangs it beside the new one. He manages to shove his bag in there, too.

When he unlatches his helmet, Church protests.

"Hey, wait, what are you doing?" He splutters, projecting himself beside Washington's helmet as he takes it off and stares down at the visor. "You are _not_ putting me in here all night."

Washington raises his eyebrow. "What does it matter to you?"

Church flickers. "Well- I dunno, I guess it doesn't."

Washington frowns.

"I just thought-" Church cuts himself off with a frustrated noise and kicks his foot before throwing his hands up. "I dunno! Whatever! I'll see you in the morning!"

Washington rolls his eyes. "Fine." He places his helmet on a hook and watches as Church's avatar crawls up onto it and sits on it, swinging his feet absentmindedly. He pauses with his hand over the lock switch, giving Church one last chance to actually finish what he was going to say.

But Church just averts his gaze and says, sarcastically, "Sweet dreams."

Washington flicks the switch and walks out of the room, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him.

—

"Donut, where've you been?"

"Just seeing if the guys at Blue Base had anything valuable to move out. You know, before you burn it to the ground? Caboose asked me to house-sit."

"Did they have anything valuable?"

"Well I'm not gonna tell _you_. You'll just find a way to burn it."

"Yeahhhh that's true. But tell me anyway."

"Naw, there's not much over there. Just some spare parts from Caboose's 'build a new best friend' project. And it looks like he took that A.I. unit with him."

"So dumb- wait, what? A.I. unit?"

"Yeah, it was kinda cool! It was purple, and it liked to hear old stories about-"

"What?! He kept that?! He wasn't supposed to keep that! I thought he turned it in. That was part of the deal for getting our bases, we had to turn over all equipment."

"...you're talking to me about things that really don't make any sense. I've kinda been gone. I don't know if you noticed."

"I'm gonna tell Sarge, and have him get it back from that idiot."

—

"Okay. We'll help you repair your Jeep, and then you're gone. Couple of rules while you're here. This is a restricted dig site. Everything here is property of the military. _Do not_ go looking for _any_ artifacts. And do not go anywhere without telling _me_. Got it?"

"Yes _mom_ , we got it."

"Okay. Quick quiz, then: What are you gonna do if you find an artifact?"

"Not take it."

"No. That was a trick question. You're not going to _find_ an artifact, because you're not going to be _looking_ for an artifact."

"Maybe I knew it was a trick question, so I gave you a trick answer."

"There are no trick answers, there are only wrong answers. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

" _Are we clear_?"

" _Yes_!"

"Okay, then head down there. On the left you'll find some wrecked Jeeps you can scavenge for parts. There's also water down there on the left, too. Keep yourselves hydrated. You want some chow? It's with the water on the left."

"Thanks. And we'll be leaving as soon as we can."

"Yes. You will."

"...Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Sarge?"

"Yeah. Somethin' just doesn't seem right."

"I know. Everything is on the left."

"Shut up, Caboose."


	3. Chapter 3

Washington is sitting in the back, having given up on standing hours ago. He's taking inventory of their weapons and ammo. Yesterday morning, Church had conveniently forgot to remind Washington to pop into Witt's shop before they headed out, so they had to make an early-morning stop after driving all through last night.

At the new place, a civilian shop in a nearby town, Washington picked up a hunting knife, some ammunition for his and Meta's pistols - that Washington had found tucked in the very back of the Jeep's trunk when he'd been pulling everything out to do a complete inventory, and some ammunition for Meta's gun. Because of how many credits he'd spent, Meta got the knife part of his weapon sharpened for free, along with Washington's new knife. Then they got gas, splurged on some _real_ food - their MREs weren't satisfying Meta's need for practically raw meat - and went on their merry way.

Washington pauses after holstering his pistol and arming himself with ammo. He picks up the data chip sitting on the base of the Jeep's turret and turns it over in his palm. Instead of the Project Freelancer logo, it has the UNSC insignia in the top corner. It looks more high-tech, and Washington wonders if it's comfortable for Church in there.

In a fit of frustration, Washington had pulled Church from his armour shortly after leaving the UNSC Outpost the previous morning. He hasn't put him back, since, and part of him doesn't ever want to. He knows he'll have to, when they get to Valhalla later in the day, so he can assist Wash in negotiating with the Simulation Troopers. Never mind the fact that Meta has been strained, physically, whenever he attempts to use his enhancements without Church's help.

Not that Church even knows _how_ to help.

Washington makes a fist around the data chip and mutters, "Idiot."

_Rrrrrrrrrr_.

"Nice try. I'm not giving him to you, no matter how much I don't want him," Washington snaps. "I'm under direct orders to-"

_RRRRRRRRHHHHHIIIIISSSSSSSS_.

"Oh, calm down, I don't need your temper to deal with on top of the melodramatic computer program. Just shut up and keep your eyes on the road."

Meta doesn't reply, so Washington goes back to his counting. They _should_ have enough ammunition to get in, get Epsilon, and get out, regardless of any fight the idiots might pull together. Not that Washington is underestimating them. He's bought all the ammunition their armour can carry, and is going in prepared for anything - an essential mindset to be in when it comes to the Red and Blue soldiers of Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha.

Deciding to just bite the bullet, Washington grabs Church's data chip and slides it back into his helmet.

"--uck you too, bitch!"

"Wow, what an amazing comeback, _Leonard_. I can tell you really put thought into that one."

"Yeah? Well I'm not the one that dropped the 'fuck you' like some immature-"

" _I'm_ immature? Do you even remember how this argument started?!"

"No, actually, I _don't_!"

"Well _me neither_!"

Washington yells, loud enough for Meta to cry out in shock and nearly swerve into the ditch, "What the _hell_ is going on?!"

A pause.

Church says, "Wow. Couldn't have chosen a better time?"

Agent Texas says, "Hey Wash. It's been a while." Another pause. "Huh. Church wasn't exaggerating. You've really let yourself go, in here."

"Okay, no, wait, back up," Washington says. " _Tex_?!"

Church hisses, "Told you he'd freak out."

Texas replies, "Yeah, it's me. Church was going to tell you about me soon-"

Church exclaims, " _That's_ what we were arguing about!"

"Oh, right! Because you were being a drama queen about it."

"Um, no, actually, I was being completely reasonab-"

"Shut up!" Washington cries, then takes a deep breath, savouring the blessed, yet most definitely brief, silence. "Church, remember when I said it would be best if we put everything on the table, so we could avoid any incidents?"

"No," Church replies. "And for future reference? Most stuff people tell me goes in one ear and out the other, so don't expect me to remember anything you say, 'cause chances are, I'm not listening."

"Great," Washington says dryly. "Well, by incidents, I meant things like this. So maybe you should listen to my advice every once in a while."

"Hah!" Texas barks. "Church? Listening to advice? And I thought you didn't make jokes."

"Yeah, fuck you, I don't listen to advice," Church says cheekily. "You know why? 'Cause I'm already perfect, and trying to alter perfection is a sin."

Texas says, "Dick could be bigger, though."

"You can't use that insult anymore, I know I'm a computer, and therefore have never had a dick."

"Are you _seriously_ bragging about having no dick?"

Washington covers his visor with his hand. "Can you two please just... be quiet for _one_ second."

_Rrr?_

"Yes," Washington replies, leaning back to talk to Meta. "Apparently, Church has been hiding a stowaway. And before you ask, no, you can't have her. She's... part of Alpha. Even if I had the tools necessary to extract her, I wouldn't know how, _and_ I wouldn't do it. So you're out of luck. Keep driving, and stay out of this."

_Rrrrrrsssssssshurrrr_.

"I am _not_ in the mood for the attitude right now, Meta, so please remember who has all the weapons and all the ammo before you start running your mouth, alright? Alright."

"Well," Texas says after a moment of silence, a sadistic sort of amusement in her voice that has the hair on the back of Washington's neck standing up. "You've changed."

Washington laughs bitterly. "It's been a few rough years."

"Understatement of the goddamn century," Church says. "Seriously, Tex, you take one look inside that guy's head, you'll see some crazy shit."

"Do it and I pull you for the rest of this mission." Washington snaps.

Texas replies, "Relax. I'll respect your boundaries. I'm not a complete jackass like the dick-less idiot."

Church grumbles, "Well, I can already tell you're never gonna let me live down that 'no dick' comment."

"Hell no, that shit is _gold_."

Washington asks, "Do you guys get off on this?"

"On Church's non-existent dick?"

"Seriously, woman, shut the fuck up."

"Call me _woman_ again and I will delete your ass."

"...you can't do that."

"Come on, Church, you know that telling me I _can't_ do something just makes me want to do it _more_."

"Nobody is deleting anybody," Washington says sternly. "And I _meant_ this ridiculous bickering."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Texas replies. "The bickering is all foreplay."

Church spluttered, "Hwhuh- wha- wait, it is?"

"Sure," Texas says, a grin in her voice. "Now, if only you had a dick, then we could get to the _good stuff_."

"You know," Church says, resigned. "I really should have seen that one coming."

Washington gets an idea. "Hey, Tex. Is there any chance you know how to power a suit of armour?"

"You know me, Wash. Is there anything I _can't_ do?"

"Have sex with Church, apparently."

"Oh _come on_!"

"Meh," Tex waves her hand. "I'm sure I could find a way to do that if it was worth it, but it's really not."

"Seriously, this is bullying."

Washington goes on, "Meta may need his armour enhancements, if the Sim Troopers try to fight us. Shields, cloaking, time distortion... I'm sure you're familiar with them."

"Familiar, sure," Texas replies thoughtfully. "But not from an A.I. point of view. That was always Omega's job."

Church says, "Fuck that guy."

Washington says, "Do you think you two could put your heads together and try to figure it out? I don't want something happening to Meta before we deliver Epsilon to the Commander. We don't know what we may need him for."

"See," Church says, "When you say shit like that, it makes me think you're gonna attack my friends."

"Trust me, Church, your _friends_ aren't worth the cost of this ammunition," Washington says with a snort. "However, if they refuse to give up Epsilon? That's when we'll have a problem, whether you like it or not."

"Well, I mean, why _wouldn't_ they give it up?" Church scoffs. "They're all too dumb to even know what it is, I bet it's just sitting in the corner in the base collecting dust."

—

"Would you be quiet? You're gonna get me in trouble."

"Trouble? Fuck that."

_Crash!_

"No! Okay, see, _you_ broke that. See that was your fault!"

"That- that was already broken."

"Okay, just stop moving around. Hold still!"

"I _am_ holding still! You're the one that's moving! Get your hands off me- fuckin'- douche!"

"Sorry Church."

" _Church_?!"

"...I can explain."

"Who the fuck are these guys?"

—

They make it to Valhalla in the early afternoon, and stop just outside the cliffs leading in.

"Alright, Tex," Washington says after both he and Meta have exited the vehicle and armed themselves. At the mention of her name, Tex projects herself over Washington's shoulder for the first time, her shadowy figure bearing a close resemblance to Church's avatar aside from the charcoal colour. "I need to see if you can jump into Meta's suit and turn him invisible."

"Wha- jump _in_ his armor?!" Church squawked, appearing over Washington's other shoulder. "You said she could do it from here!"

"Your _data chip_ will stay here," Washington snaps. "But the enhancements need to be activated from within Meta's armor, it's impossible to do it wirelessly."

"Oh, and I suppose you _conveniently forgot_ to mention that _tiny detail_?!"

"Relax, Church," Tex says, exasperated. Her avatar shifts weight, her hand settling on her hip. She turns to Washington. "The guy can't fuck me up as long as my chip is in your helmet, right?"

Church butts in, "Technically it's _my_ chip."

Both Washington and Tex ignore him.

"Exactly," Washington replies. "It's not like implantation. It's like driving a vehicle, not _becoming_ the vehicle."

Tex tilts her head, mulling it over, before shrugging and saying, "Alright, I'll trust ya."

She flickers out, and out of the corner of Washington's eye, he sees Church flinch. Then Meta is making a low growling noise, his suit making a whirring sound. Washington and Church watch as he slowly disappears in front of them, melting into the backdrop, only a barely-visible silhouette remaining that Washington would miss if he didn't know better.

_Rrrrrrrr_.

"You're not _supposed_ to feel her," Washington says sternly, then his voice takes on a tone of amusement. "I'm surprised this worked this easily."

Tex pops up next to Meta's helmet, and Washington's breath catches before he can remind _himself_ that she's still with him. Church's anxious buzzing in the back of his head doesn't help.

At least Tex looks relaxed. "I've always been good with vehicles," she says, cocky. "Now, are we gonna get this show on the road?"

Washington frowns. "Are you sure you don't need more practice? Invisibility is pretty straight-forward. What if the time-distorton unit-"

"I _said_ I was good," Tex snaps. "So let's do this."

"Hey, Wash?" Church mutters in Washington's helmet. "Can you maybe try not to piss off the terrifying woman I have to share a very small space with? That would be awesome."

"Alright, alright," Washington says reluctantly. "Meta, get back in the Jeep. If Tex is as good as she _says_ she is, she should be able to cloak our vehicle so you can drive in and scope out the area without being spotted. When you check the perimeter, radio me the all-clear, and I'll follow in on foot."

Meta hops in without question, and immediately after, the Jeep - and everything on it - disappears the same way Meta had. Even though she's supposed to be concentrating, Washington can _feel_ Tex's smirk at the nape of his neck. And that, Washington decides, coupled with Church's pride and smugness at Tex's abilities, is going to get old fast.

But he can't complain, because everything's going according to plan. They're so close, Washington can practically taste it.

Washington holsters his pistol, checks his ammunition read-out on his HUD, and says, "This is going to be too easy."

Church replies, "Yeah, most missions involving these guys usually are."

—

"You're telling me _that thing_ is Church."

"Well, not exactly. See, um, technically, ah, this thing is- ah, just a memory of Church? His name is Epsilon."

"Epsiwhatsawhat?"

"Me, dipshit!"

"Uh, yeah, see, he's a residual memory of the guy that Church was based on? So he's kind of, like, remembering himself. Simmons can explain, you know, much better than I can. Probably."

"Sound like I have another reason to be glad Simmons isn't here."

—

"Hey Donut, are you in there? Lopez built you a motorcycle! I broke it!"

"Hey! Yeah, Simmons, I'm inside Blue Base. Guess what? Blue Team got a new soldier!"

"What? They sent another team member? Why would they do that? That doesn't make any sense-"

_RrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR_.

"OH _FUCK_! Welcome to the neighbourhood see you later!"

—

"So the grenade dodges every one of my sniper shots like it's got a mind of its own-"

"Or because you have the worst aim ever. Of all time."

"Can it, Wash, I'm telling a story. So anyway, I wind up just fucking everything up more, until O'Malley rolls up Doc's body and at that point I call it quits. But I gotta get to Sidewinder, right? And I figure, well, I'll take the teleporter, because that's how I got there last time. But before then, I give Sheila orders to protect the base, 'cause at the time, I didn't know if we were coming back."

"But we _did_ come back."

"Yeah, of course we did," Church rolls his eyes. "But the thing is, when I went back, Sheila didn't remember the orders I gave her before, so I'm assuming now that all that going into the past stuff was just Gamma fucking with me for some reason."

Washington rests his chin in his hand and hums thoughtfully. "You said Wyoming was at Sidewinder at the time of the explosion?"

"Yeah, he shot the rocket launcher out of Tucker's hands. It was kinda badass."

"I'd assume that Project Freelancer personnel showed up on-scene after the explosion to put you and the others back into a set scenario, since you had all strayed pretty far at that point," Washington explains. "Gamma and Wyoming must have spoken with the Director and taken control of you, to try and harvest another fragment. Was there anyone you interacted with in the simulation that seemed out-of-place, or unfamiliar?"

Church glances at him. "...are you saying I might have fragmented without knowing it?"

"You were put in a high-stress situation where your actions directly hurt the people you cared about," Washington says with a grimace. "That's the same routine they used back on the Mother of Invention. I wouldn't worry about it, since all the fragments are gone, now. It's just something to think about."

"Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better, buddy," Church replies. "And speaking of things to think about, when are we gonna address the fact that you killed, like, ninety percent of my personality with a giant magnet?"

Tex shrugs. "I say good riddance."

Church snaps, "Well nobody asked you, bitch."

The radio noise plays inside Washington's helmet, so Washington tunes out Church and Tex's bickering in order to listen to Meta.

_Rrrrrrrrrr_.

"Okay, how many hostiles?"

_Rrrr_.

"Wait, only three? That doesn't make any sense," Washington replies, feeling a familiar sense of dread curling in his stomach. "There should be four, at least... what colour are they?"

_HHHHHhrrrrrrrrrSSSSSSS_.

"Okay, the maroon one is Simmons. Pink and brown I don't know... there's no blue one?"

_Rrrr_.

"What do you mean, what shade? Just _regulation blue_." Washington covers his visor with his hand. "Whatever, we're coming in. Did you check Blue Base for the Epsilon unit?"

_Rrr rrrrrr_.

With a growl of frustration, Washington clicks off his radio and starts stalking towards the caves. "Completely useless," he says. "I don't know what the point is in bringing him."

"I dunno, dude," Church replies. "I'm just glad he's on our side, now. Remember when he threw that car?"

"Woah, he threw a car?" Tex cries. "That's awesome!"  


"I know! Grif _totally_ shit his pants!"

"Hah! That's the fat orange one, right?"

"Yup!"

"Nice," Tex laughs. "I just got a whole buncha respect for that big guy."

"Can you two be quiet," Washington snaps. "You're going to give up our position."

Church scoffs. "To who? Donut?"

"Who's Donut? Actually, you know what? I don't care."

Church says, "Most people don't."

"I do," Tex grumbles. "Still haven't repaid that little punk for killing me."

Washington falters. "Wait... this Donut person killed _you_?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"You're just... you're... you're _Texas_. How did you get killed by a Simulation Trooper?"

Tex replies, "He's got a _very_ good arm."

—

"Freeze! Lower your weapons! You... do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you've caused me?! I should kill you right here!"

"Somebody's getting killed? I wanna watch!"

"...you activated it?"

"Activated what?"

"Secure the relic! Don't let it get away!"

"...oh, cool pistol. Green's my favourite colour!"

_Pew!_

"Church!"

"Let's go!"

"Wait! We need to grab Church!"

"That guy in brown armour grabbed him!"

"There he goes! Everybody get in the Jeep!"

"You guys follow him, I'll cut him off."

"We can't lose Church!"

"We won't!"

"You always say that but we always do!"

—

"What do you _mean_ , Epsilon's not in Blue Base?" Washington shouts into his radio, crouched behind a boulder in the canyon. "Are you sure you checked _Blue_ Base? They both look the same."

_RRrrrrrrrRRRRRRR_.

"Okay, I guess that makes sense," Washington exhales, frustrated. "Where the hell would it be, then? And where the hell is Caboose?!"

"He's probably playing hide and don't seek, or something," Church says casually. "Either that, or he got his head stuck in the freezer. Did Meta check the freezer?"

"Maybe he went somewhere with Epsilon," Tex suggests. "We should capture the Reds and interrogate them. Donut's an idiot and Lopez won't be any help, but Simmons usually knows what's going on."

"That's a good idea," Washington says, pressing the button on his radio. "Meta, send me your location. We're on our way. Do not lay a finger on any of them, we're going to do this the easy way."

_RRRRhhhrrrrrrrr_.

"Yeah, well, we don't have a choice. Just send the fucking location and stop talking back to me."

Tex says, "You know, you've got a lot of balls talking to him like that. If he wanted to, I bet he could crush your skull with his pinkie finger."

Washington replies, "Actually, it takes his entire hand."

Church chokes out, " _What_?!"

"To crush a skull," Washington clarifies as he silently hurries over to Meta's location. "He can crush a skull with his hand in three seconds. Five seconds with his left, since it's more awkward for him. One time, he decapitated a man with a single punch to the side of the helmet."

Tex breathes, "Nice."

Church deadpans, "Tex."

"What? Is it a _crime_ to admire a man's inhuman strength?"

"There's admiring and then there's _drooling over_ in front of your _boyfriend_."

"Well if my _boyfriend_ doesn't like it, maybe he should learn how to _crush skulls_ in his _hands_."

"Shut up, both of you!" Washington hisses, unholstering his pistol as he rounds a boulder, walking faster as he catches sight of Meta and the three Reds. Meta is approaching them, grenade launcher in hand, and Washington scoffs when he realizes _he's_ supposed to play good cop.

"Agent Washington. It's Agent Washington!"

"Who?"

Washington glances at Meta. "Stop right there."

Meta stands down, lowering his weapon and turning to Washington, who nods his way.

"I'll take it from here."

_Shhhhhrrrrrrssss_.

"I _said_ back off."

Simmons takes a step back. "What... what's happening?"

Washington raises his pistol to Simmons' head. "Where is it?"

Church says, a dark hesitance in his voice, "Wash..."

"Wh-where's what? Why aren't you two fighting?"

"The Epsilon unit. I know you have it. Give it to me."

"Pense que este su amigo."

"Wait wait wait, you're... working with the Meta?"

Washington clicks the safety off his pistol. " _Don't_ make me _repeat_ myself."

Tex says, agitated, "Hey, if you seriously need to shoot someone, shoot the brown one, alright? He's a robot, he'll be fine."

"Alright." Washington says under his breath, cutting off the robot's sentence by shooting him in the head.

"Oh my god!" The pink one screeched. "He just shot Lopez!"

Washington turns and shoots the pink one in the leg, causing him to collapse onto the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Immediately, there's a chorus of protests in his head.

Tex yells, "Woah!"

Church screams, "What the fuck?! Why would you shoot _Donut_?!"

"Donut! No, Donut, Donut, are you okay?! Come on, breathe Donut, breathe," Simmons looks up at Washington and says, with a harshness in his voice that Washington's never heard, "Why did you do that?! What's _wrong with you_?!"

_Now, Agent Washington, I just have one more question for you_.

"You fuck! You fucking _psychopath_!"

"No, Donut! Come on, stay with me! Stay with me, Donut!"

"I can't _believe_ this! I _trusted_ you, Wash! You said you weren't going to hurt any of them!”

_Agent Washington_.

"Don't just stand there!"

The back of Washington's head is hot, burning hot. With a gasp, Washington stumbles forward the slightest amount, and takes no pleasure in the way Simmons scrambles back, pressing up against the side of their Jeep.

_Leonard, come on_.

"Church," Tex warns. "You need to calm down."

_Stop it, put that thing down_.

Washington's grip loosens on his pistol as he lowers it slowly.

" _Calm down_?! Oh, easy for _you_ to say, you're just as fucking _insane_ as the rest of the Freelancer freaks!"

_So you would say that you have overwhelming feelings of anger, and a need for revenge?_

"You're putting too much pressure on Wash's implan-"

"I don't give a _shit_ about Wash's _anything_ , in case you haven't noticed! He just _shot Donut_!"

_It's the schematics, they're just- they're too complex! I just need more time to work on them!_

"Yeah, and I threw a grenade at his face and nearly killed him! You're overreacting."

"But Wash _promised_ that he wouldn't hurt them!"

"Well, Church, you should know by now that promises get broken."

_Don't worry, you'll see me again_.

"Fuck this, I'm locking down this motherfucker."

_RRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHIIISSSSSSSSSSSS_.

"Oh, no you don't, big guy."

"Tex, what are you-"

_Agent Washington's vitals are spiking_.

"I can't feel my toes! My beautifully pedicured toes!"

"Donut, can't you see we have _more shit_ to worry about than your _pedicured toes_?!"

_Secure him! Get him under control!_

"Why did your friend shoot me? ...and why is he dead now?"

"He's not dead- he's- I don't know. I don't know! Come on, let's get out of here while they're distracted!"

_You'd better hurry up and figure out what side you're on, Agent Washington. Before they figure it out for you_.

—

"Hey, what's up."

"What in the hell _is_ that thing?! ...Oh, son of a-“

_Zap!_

"I am not a thing! My name is Leonard Church, and you will _fear my laser face_!"

"Ohoho, hell yeah! Dude, you just got _fucked up_!"

"Wow, now _that_ was awesome."

"Yeah. _Awesome_."


	4. Chapter 4

“Come in, Command. Come in, Command. This is Medical Officer Dufresne. I have arrived at Freelancer Program Simulation Outpost Seventeen. Command? Come in? Come in, this is Medical Officer Dufresne. I have reached FPS Outpost Seventeen. Command? Commmaaaaaannnnd?"

"Hey, shut the fuck up and get over here!"

"Holy cow, Simmons! Is that you?"

"What the- Doc?! How is this possible?"

"I dunno! We got the radio call and I was the closest medic so they sent me. But I didn't know it'd be you guys! Small galaxy, huh? Man, we got a lotta catching up to do. So what's up? Somebody hurt or what?"

"Heeeeeey, Doc, down here!"

"Oh, hey Donut. Man... that is a lot of blood. What happened?"

“Me and some friends of Simmons’ did _not_ get off on the right foot, I'll tell ya that."

"Ha ha, I get it! 'Cause he shot you in the right foot! Man, you guys are a riot! I missed this!"

"Doc, keep your voice down! This isn't the time for joking around, we've got two terrifying Freelancers trying to hunt us down, and I think one of them might have an A.I."

"Uh, okay, I dunno if you guys remember, but I don't have a really good track record with A.I."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Why do you think one of them has an A.I., Simmons?"

"When Wash came towards me, he collapsed suddenly and stopped moving. I could hear his armour lock. Armour only locks automatically if you're injured, but if you have an A.I. in your suit, it can do it manually. The question is, why would Wash have an A.I. after he tried so hard to destroy them all, and why would that A.I. try to stop him from hurting us?"

—

"Did you see him?"

"Who?"

"The person, from the darkness, the- no, that's not right... that's not right. Well- did you see?"

"What's he talking about?"

"I think he's having another memory flash."

"A what?"

"Random memories that keep coming back to him. He's been getting 'em more and more lately and I don't think he has any control over 'em. He gets all emo too, it's annoying. Like having a chick around, but without all the fun parts of having a chick around. Like _bonin'_!"

"You should take out his memory unit and blow on it. That'll fix it."

"Is he having more memories?"

"Yep."

"Did he remember me this time?"

"Nope."

"I saw a canyon, and uh, a waterfall. And there was some kinda dark figure there."

"Was the dark figure me?"

"Caboose, we will let you know if you come up, I _promise_. A waterfall, huh? That's the second time you've talked about that. But where could that be?"

"Uh, that sounds like our new bases."

—

"...ash? Wash? Hey, Wash, snap out of it, man!"

Washington groans, blinking his eyes open. His head is pounding and his chest feels tight, but he can move, which is a good thing. He immediately reaches back and holds his fingers lightly over his implants at the nape of his neck, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Jesus, you’re up, finally,” Church says. "You good?"

"Yeah," Washington croaks, feeling around for his gun. When his hand closes over the barrel of his rifle, the remaining panic and disorientation seeps out of him, and he looks around. He's in the passenger seat of the Jeep, Church hovering over his shoulder, and Meta sparking and glitching off to the side. "What's wrong with him?"

"After I locked your armour, he tried to kill Simmons. Tex jumped into his armour..." Church trails off, glancing at Meta. "She hasn't come out yet, and I haven't been able to get a response out of either of them."

Washington sits up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said, dumbass," Church snaps. "I don't know what's going on in there, but Tex has him under control, for now. So I think you should focus on the fact that Simmons sent out a distress call, and now there's someone else in the canyon."

"How do you know that?"

"I tapped into his radio using the Jeep's frequency," Church explains. "I just guessed their password - it was ‘password,’ and boom. I was in. I heard the tail-end of the distress call. Luckily, Simmons didn't explain much about the situation, so Command figured it was just another simulation and sent a bullshit medic. I know the guy personally, and trust me, he's a total joke.”

Washington rubs his visor and groans, feeling a headache building. “Is he a threat?”

“Nah,” Church replies. “He’s just an annoying shitbird. But he’s got history with Omega - was infected with him longer than all of us. Pretty sure it left him a little loopy, but… eh, we’re all a little loopy, at this point. Such is life.”

“Either way, we need to regroup,” Washington looks at Meta. “What do we do with him?”

“You tell me,” Tex’s voice says, followed seconds later by her figure over Meta’s shoulder.

“Tex!” Church cries, flitting over to stand beside her. “What’s going on?! Why weren’t you answering me?!”

“Chill out, Jesus,” Tex shoves Church in the chest hard enough to send him staggering back. Then she turns her attention to Washington. “Something set him off, I dunno what. But I think he’s calmed down, now. Still, I’ve been keeping him locked down. Figured we didn’t need him trying to get ahold of our chip while you were out.”

“Smart plan,” Washington nods, then gets out of the Jeep with a grunt. He uses the hand not holding his rifle to steady himself on his feet, holding onto the side of the Jeep. “Do we know the location of the hostiles?”

“Hey, asshole,” Church says, teleporting right in front of Washington’s visor, hands on his hips. “Those _hostiles_ happen to be my _friends_. Or did your psychotic brain somehow forget that? What the fuck were you doing, back there?!”

Washington exhales sharply and slides down the side of the Jeep, sitting down onto the uneven ground. He drops his head between his knees and takes some deep breaths.

“Listen, Church,” he finally says, keeping his gaze trained on the ground between his feet. “I don’t care if I shoot your best friend in the face at point blank range,” he up at Church’s figure, still hovering close to his face. “You _cannot_ do that again, do you understand?”

“Uh, okay, one?” Church holds his finger up. “I don’t _have_ a best friend, because I’m too awesome for that middle school shit. Two, I didn’t mean to do that, so fuck you, not my fault. And three? Why _Donut_? You coulda shot Simmons, I hate that guy. But I _like_ Donut.”

“We need Simmons for information,” Washington replies sternly. “Hurting him might have made him clam up more. Hurting his friends is a good intimidation tactic.”

Tex snorts. “That maroon guy doesn’t need intimidation tactics. He’d keel over if you flicked him.”

“Yeah, have you _met_ Simmons?”

“Well then, if he’s such a pushover,” Washington stands up and plants his feet firmly on the ground, hoisting his rifle up in both hands. “Let’s go have a little chat with him.”

“Uh oh,” Church says, suddenly.

Washington asks, “What is it?”

Church tunes the Warthog’s radio to a new channel and then says, “We might have a problem.”

—

“Come in Valhalla Outpost Number One. Come in! Red Base, do you read me? Come in! Give me some power, shotput.”

“Oh my god, Sarge, is that you?!”

“‘Course it’s me. Who is this? Identify yourself!”

“It’s me, Simmons. Sir, you have no idea what-”

“How is everything going over there, Simmons?”

“That’s what I’m trying to _tell_ you, Sir! Things are totally fucked up! Agent Washington is here, and he’s working with the Meta! He killed Lopez, and shot Donut in the foot!”

“The Meta did?”

“No, Wash did!”

“Why, that backstabbing little- after all we did for him!”

“ _Please_ , Sarge, just come back and save us!”

“We’re on our way, Simmons. Just sit tight, and try not to die.”

“Believe me, Sir, I’m trying my best.”

—

“Save him? Sarge, how the hell are _we_ supposed to fight Wash and the _Meta_?”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan. How good are the seatbelts in this new Jeep?”

“Good, I guess. …Wait, why?”

—

Washington sends Meta around the back of Red Base with Tex, while Washington and Church storm the front.

“How many men will be returning with Sarge?” Washington asks.

“Who knows,” Church flickers to life beside Wash’s head, looking around the base. “Man, this place is _way_ cooler than Blood Gulch. What did they do to get such an upgrade?”

Washington grits his teeth and says, “Probably helped the UNSC fuck me over.”

Church scoffs. “Yeah, right. You’re just paranoid.”

“Give me another reason they kept Epsilon instead of turning it over.”

“I can give you several,” Church snaps, but then disappears from view, tensing up in the back of Wash’s mind. “Heads up, I’ve got three heat signatures up on the second floor. Meta’s closer, but I’d feel a lot better if you beat him there.”

“Right,” Washington mutters, picking up the pace and heading up the ramp to the second floor, emerging into the daylight.

“Eek!” The pink one - Donut - shrieks, waving his hands frantically in front of his face. “Don’t kill us!”

His yelling attracts the attention of Simmons and the medic, who spin away from the radio and tense up. Washington catches Simmons going for his gun, so he raises his rifle quickly.

“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Washington says in a low voice, ignoring the warning jolt Church sends through his system.

“Wh-what, this?” Simmons asks, tapping the pistol over his hip. “I-I wasn’t going to- I mean- I was just- uh…”

The medic whispers, loud enough for Washington to hear from across the floor, “Tell him you just had an itch.”

Simmons turns and stares at the medic, then says, slowly, “An itch… over my armour…”

The medic shrugs weakly. “I dunno, it’s all I could come up with.”

“Cut the crap,” Washington says sternly, approaching them slowly. He waves his gun in the direction of the back wall, where Donut is slouched. “Get over there.”

They don’t move.

Washington grits his teeth. “Do you really want to make me ask twice?”

That gets them scrambling, stumbling over each other to get to the wall, pressing their backs up against it and standing straight. Right then, Meta appears at Washington’s side, coming from around a corner.

_Rrrrrrrrrrr_.

“Good idea,” Washington says lightly, then lowers his voice again and addresses Simmons and the medic. “Weapons. Hand them over.”

“Y-yessir,” Simmons squeaks, pulling his pistol from his holster and holding it up pinched between two fingers.

Washington nods at Meta, who walks over and grabs it, slapping it onto his own hip. Washington feels the heavy weight of Tex’s presence settling in beside Church at the nape of his neck, and then he glares at the medic.

“You, too.”

The medic stammers, “Uh… I don’t… I don’t carry weapons, Agent.”

Washington narrows his eyes. “What kind of field medic doesn’t carry at least a pistol?”

“Well, you see, uh…”

Church says, “He’s a pacifist.”

“I’m a pacifist.”

“Told ya.”

Still, Washington turns to Meta and orders, “Search him.”

As Meta crowds the medic up against the wall and starts searching him, Wash hears a voice in the distance.

“Oh, Simmons~ …Simmons! Where are you?! Yoohoo!”

Washington looks through the scope on his rifle and zooms in as best he can in the direction the shout had come from. Sure enough, Sarge is standing there, looking around and calling Simmons’ name.

“Is he an idiot?” Washington asks dryly. “He knows we’re here. Why would he just give away his position like that?”

_Rrrrrrrrssssssss_.

“I don’t know if he has it, I can’t see from this far.”

Sarge continues shouting, “Siiiiiiimmmmmmooooonnnnnssss!”

_Rrrrrrrr_.

“If it’s just him, I’ll go take care of it.”

“I sure hope you mean something way less threatening than you’re making it sound when you say ‘take care of it,’” Church grumbles. “Seriously, dude, I fucking hate the Reds, but they’re the easiest enemies we’ve got. Don’t fuck that up by killing ‘em all.”

“I think it’s a trap,” Tex states.

“It’s not a _trap_ , Tex, they’re the _Reds_ ,” Church says, and Washington can feel the eyeroll. “Pretty sure the word ‘trap’ isn’t in their vocabulary. Neither is ‘stealth,’ which is why he’s just standing down there yelling like a goddamn moron.”

_RRRrrrhhhhhrrrhrrhrrr._

“No, it’ll be fine,” Washington tells Meta. “Even if it _is_ a trap, it won’t be anything I can’t handle. You stay here, guard these three. If he gives me any trouble, just kill-”

“A _hem_.”

“Just… knock out the prisoners, and come help me.”

As Washington heads back downstairs, he hears the medic say, “I hope your friend doesn’t give him any trouble…”

To which Simmons replies, “If he’s one of _my_ friends, we don’t stand a chance.”

—

“Yo, dudes! Sarge! Grif! Where’d you go? Oh, great.”

“Um, hey, Tucker?”   
“Yeah, what’s up, dude?”

“Um, have you seen Church?”

“Nah, I’m looking for the Red guys. Looks like they fixed one of the Jeeps and took off.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not good.”

“Maybe Church went with them, maybe they took him, I dunno, dude.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think that would happen.”

“What? How the fuck would you know?”

“‘Cause if he were gone, I think some people who have been looking for him, might be really mad that he’s not here, and we may have to _explain_ to these people _why_ he’s not here, and those people might not like our explanation, and those people might hurt us with plasma guns and plasma grenades.”

“Oh. Right.”

“…I mean the aliens.”

“Yeah. I figured that out.”

—

Tex says, as Washington runs across the canyon, “You know, it really is comforting to know that no matter how long I’ve been gone, you idiots stay the exact same.”

“Hey, don’t lump me in with them,” Church snaps. “I’ve changed a lot. I’m an A.I. now.”

“Hate to break it to you, Church, but you’ve been an A.I. this whole time.”

“Wh- you know what I mean!”

“I dunno, maybe I just can’t see it,” Tex replies flippantly. “From my point of view, you’re just a smaller, dick-less version of the same old jerk I’ve always known.”

“You know what? Fuck you.”

Washington tunes out their bickering as he approaches Sarge. He raises his rifle and says, “Freeze! Stay where you are. Turn around.”

Sarge turns around, shotgun in hand and head lowered, and says, “Well, well. If it isn’t our good buddy Agent Washington. And just what are you doing here?”

Washington narrows his eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me, Sarge. You knew I was here, and I think you know why. Where are the rest of your guys? Where’s Epsilon?”

“…Someplace safe.”

_I don’t have time for this_ , Washington thinks to himself, gripping his rifle hard enough to hurt his fingers even through his armour. “You can either tell me, or you can tell the Meta back at the base. And trust me, he _really_ wants a chance to repay you for all the trouble you caused him.”

Sarge scoffs. “I seem to recall you caused him some of that trouble, yourself.”

“He’s got a point,” Both Church and Tex say, in unison.

Washington ignores them. “Situation’s changed,” he replies. “Now drop your weapons.”

After a moment, Sarge throws his shotgun down at Washington’s feet. Then he says, unhappily, “Just so you know, I’m gonna want that back in a minute.”

Washington regards the pistol still held in Sarge’s hand, unimpressed. “I said. Drop. Your weapons.”

“ _All_ my weapons?”

“Yes,” Washington hisses through his teeth, feeling his temper fray.

“Down, boy,” Tex says smugly in the back of Washington’s head. Church snickers.

“You sure? Maybe I could just keep the pistol. You know, these things aren’t quite as effective as they used to be.”

Again, in perfect sync, Tex and Church both say, lightly, “He’s got a point.”

“ _Drop it_. Now.”

Under his breath, Sarge mutters, “Well, that’s what people say,” and tosses his pistol to the ground alongside his shotgun.

“Good,” Washington says, forcing a cruel smile on his face as he hits Sarge on the shoulder with the end of his gun, forcing him to turn towards Blue Base. “Now march.”

Sarge doesn’t move.

“He’s gonna refuse to go into Blue Base without his shotgun,” Church says, “Bet you ten bucks.”

Tex replies, “Yeah, okay, I’ll take that action.”

Washington hits him again, harder, but Sarge just steels himself and shakes his head slowly.

“Son,” he says, and Washington’s hackles rise at the nickname, “You can ambush me. You can even take away my weapons. But if you think I’m gonna set one single pinky toe inside of Blue Base without my _shotgun_ … you must not know who you’re dealin’ with.”

“Ha!” Church cheers victoriously. “Pay up, bitch!”

“Oh, what a shame,” Tex says sadly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Must’ve left my wallet in the old body.”

“Well you better figure out something else to give me.”

“Hm, I don’t- oh, I know!” Tex grins sadistically. “How ‘bout a swift kick in the groin?”

Church shudders. “How is it that you can make me feel phantom pain in a body part I have never had?”

“One of my many talents.”

—

“Hey, I have an idea. Give me your scanner thing.”

“My scanner? Why? It can’t be used as a weapon.”

“Maybe it can. If I can overload the power cell, you may be able to fire an overcharged burst. It could short out the Meta’s systems. Either that, or…"

“Or what?”

“Huh? Wha- nah, nah nah nah, no _or_. Just, forget the or.”

“You were gonna say ‘explode,’ weren’t you?”

“…No?”

“Were you _thinking_ ‘explode?’”

“I- just give me the damn scanner.”

—

“For God’s sake,” Wash mutters under his breath, then hits Sarge a third time. “I said _move_.”

“And I said, shotgun.”

Washington furrows his eyebrows and replies, confused, “…Yes. I have your shotgun.”

“No, I mean, _shot gun_.”

“What… is this,” Washington loosens his grip on his gun out of sheer confusion. “Do you think I’m going to give you your shotgun because you asked?”

Sarge throws his hands up in frustration and turns towards the blank grey wall behind them, fast enough to trigger Washington’s reflexes and have him raising his gun to Sarge’s head once more.

“I said, shotgun! Shotgun, dammit!”

Washington hears a muffled voice say, from behind the wall, “Oh, yeah, shotgun! That’s my cue!”

Washington flounders. “What? Wait, what are you up to?”

Then he hears an engine start up.

“Oh, booyah!” Tex whoops, a wide smile on her face. “Fucking called it! Trap!”

“Bullshit, that’s bullshit!” Church protests, annoyance sparking up Washington’s spine. “There’s no way they’re this smart!”

“Guess they _have_ changed since we’ve been gone!”

“What’s that noise?!” Washington demands, panic rising up in his throat as he looks from Sarge, to the wall, to Sarge again. “Do I hear a-”

Sure enough, a Warthog bursts through the wall, sending debris flying out across the canyon. Washington sees a glimpse of orange in the driver’s seat as his heart jumps to his throat and Tex and Church both start screaming in his head.

Soon, Washington joins them, staring in jaw-dropping disbelief at the oncoming bumper of the Red’s vehicle, screeching, “ _CAR?!?!”_

Suddenly, for Washington, everything starts moving in slow motion, and he can hear Tex and Church shouting at the back of his mind.

Tex yells, “Church, figure out the angle of impact, keep him from getting run over!”

“I-I- I don’t know how!” Church screeches, a panicked waver in his tone that is familiar to Washington in the worst of ways. “I don’t know how!”

“Just focus, Church!”

“I _can’t_!” Church wails, and Washington feels his implants heating up. “On the scale of one to ten of shit I can do, this is a fucking _fifteen_!”

“Church, we’re running out of time-”

“I’m trying to- I’m trying- I don’t- I can’t- I just need _more time-_ ”

“We don’t _have_ time!”

“I’m sorry!”

_Fuck it_ , Washington thinks, and lets his entire body go limp as the car hits him. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but Washington grits his teeth and still manages to find a grip on the front of the Jeep, his legs dragging in the dirt as the vehicle hits the ground.

“How’s my bumper taste, asshole?!” Grif sneers, and if that just doesn’t piss Washington right the fuck off.

So he musters up all the strength he can and climbs up the front of the car, snarling as he manages to get his chest up onto the hood, followed by his stomach and hips. Then he’s up on one knee and taking both his rifle and Sarge’s shotgun, blindly shooting at a screaming Grif.

Church’s voice is higher-pitched than Washington has ever heard it when he cries, “Wait- no! No, Wash, don’t shoot!”

“He! Ran! Me! Over!” Wash growls through his teeth, crying out in rage when the shotgun jams.

He raises it and tries to send it through the windshield at Grif, but before he can bring his arm down, Grif hits the brakes, sending Washington flying from the hood of the car.

As he flies backwards through the air, Sarge grabs the shotgun out of his hands, cocks it, and says, “See? Told you I’d get it back.”

Washington lands against a pile of hard metal cylinders that Tex recognizes as:

“Propane tanks,” she says, and then all of their attention is on the Warthog, which is turning around and rolling past them. “Shit- Church!"

No answer.

“ _Church_!”

“…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t do it, I can’t do anything right, I can’t-” Church is stammering, seemingly to himself.

Washington realizes he needs to get away from the explosive barrels as fast as possible, but when he tries to stand up, his body doesn’t listen to him, and leaves him staggering and groaning in pain.

The world is spinning, his head is spinning, _Church’s_ head is spinning and bursts of electricity are spreading through Washington’s implants, disorienting him even more.

“Church, listen to me,” Tex says, her voice soft but stern. “You need to lock down Wash’s armour. I know you can. You’ve done it before. But you need to do it _right now_ or Wash is going to _die_.”

“H…huh..?” Washington mumbles as he tries to balance himself on a tank. But the tank falls over, and he falls over with it, and when he looks up, it’s to the sight of Sarge and the barrel of a shotgun.

“Agent Wash?”

“Son of a bitch,” Washington sighs, accepting his fate and sinking to his knees in the pile of propane tanks. He did it again. He underestimated them again, and look where it got him.

“You just got-”

“Church, now!”

As soon as Washington closes his eyes, he hears a shotgun fire, his armour lock click into place, and then nothing.

—

“Okay, now’s our chance, Doc. Hit him with an overcharge. It should overload at least one of his systems.”

“Uuwwaaahhhh…”

“Um… you do it.”

“What- me? I don’t even know how to fire that thing!”

“It huuuuuurrrrrrrtsssssss…”

“Just pull the trigger and let go, it’s super easy!”

“Siiiimmmmoooonnnnnssssssss……”

“Shut up, Donut. And Doc, listen, you’re trained with it, you should do it. Go.”

“What if I miss? What if it doesn’t do anything but make him mad?”

“Wha- what- well then just… we’ll improvise.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel entirely comfortable with that answer.”

_BOOM!_

“What the heck was that?”

“Uh oh, I have a bad feeling that someone just caused him some trouble!”

“Aaah!”

“Oh no, improvise, improvise!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i can never give that scene justice. it is, by far, my favourite scene in any episode of red vs blue, ever. of course, it's a little different this time, but i definitely wanted to keep it in.
> 
> anyway, let me know what you think :) and stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter, just to finish up this scene and keep the story moving.
> 
> the dialogue in the first scene where wash is having flashbacks while he's unconscious is from the rvb fan guide, in case you guys don't know. it's an interview between the counselor and wash right before he gets into project freelancer. if you want to avoid spoilers since you don't have the book or something like that, feel free to skip this scene. :)

“Am I dead? Am I dead?”

“Doc, you did it!”

“…He’s frozen!”

“No, it looks like you overloaded his time distortion unit. You must have caused some kind of inversion. Instead of making everything else slow, it made _him_ slow.”

“Hah… hah, yeah! Score one for the pacifist! How do you like me now, Meta?”

“Um, Doc? I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you.”

“Why, what’s he gonna do? Beat me up over the course of the next two weeks?”

“Well, technically, he’s not actually moving slower. He’s moving at the same speed, just over a longer period of time.”

“Huh?”

“It’s relativistic. His fist still travels at the same velocity, we just view it from a faster timeframe. Therefore it _looks_ slowed down, but theoretically, it should still carry the same force.

“…Nah, see? It’s moving slower!”

_Clink_

“WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! OW!”

“Oh no, Doc!”

“See? That’s what you get for arguing with science. Stupid bitch.”

—

_Ah, Corporal Carvalho. You are late. Please have a seat._

_Sorry, Sir._

“Did I do it?”

“Yeah, Church, you did it.”

_Do secrets make you uncomfortable, David?_

_I just prefer transparency. I like to know what I’m getting into._

_Well, if you are admitted into the Project, then I am sure we will get to know one another… very well._

“Is he… is Wash okay?”

“He should be. He took some heavy hits, but hell, I’ve seen him come back from worse. Did I ever tell you about that time I saved him from falling off a hundred and ten storey building?”

_How are you, David?_

_Is that a trick question?_

_There are no trick questions._

_…I’m super._

“Pff, no. How the hell did that go down?”

“A mission when balls-up. They had to fire the orbital cannon onto the building, and we happened to be at the top, when they did. I grabbed the only jet pack and launched off with the primary objective. Carolina, York, and Wash all followed. No jetpacks.”

_Does this evaluation make you… anxious?_

_Let’s just say being psycho-analyzed doesn’t top my list of hobbies._

_Why would you say that is?_

_…I don’t like people trying to look around inside my head._

“Have I mentioned lately that all you freelancers are fucking insane?”

“It’s come up. Anyway, we’re falling, and Wash jumps onto the objective - this big-ass steel container of some sort, in order to shoot a helicopter down. And I’m thinking, hey, I like this guy. Never met him, but I like him.”

_Tell me about your service record, David._

_Nothing you don’t already know from my file. Basic training in the Leonis Minoris system before… well, you know what happened, there. Bounced around to different systems. Patrol duties, stuff like that._

_And then the alien attack at your last post?_

_…Yeah. That._

“I never understood how you could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Just _decide_ that you like someone, or respect someone, just by one or two things they do. Aren’t people more complicated than that?”

“If you let them be. But hey, don’t you decide that you _dislike_ someone just because of one or two things they do?”

“Touché.”

_Your file speaks of an incident. You had a… disagreement with the Staff Sergeant?_

_He wanted to send everyone to their deaths. I disagreed._

_You disobeyed orders?_

_I saved a platoon._

“So anyway, I get both our asses, and the objective, into the Pelican. Clumsy doofus almost falls off the container as we fly through the air, but I get ahold of his ankle. Kid never even thanked me. Just tried to make awkward small-talk. ‘So, jetpacks, huh?’ Only words he said to me during the entire two years we knew each other.”

“Heh. Sounds like Wash.”

“No kidding.”

_You injured a commanding officer._

_Yeah. Command thought that was the more important part of the story, too._

_Would you say you still harbour strong feelings of resentment about this incident?_

_Okay, that’s got to be a trick question. Yes. Of course I do._

“He’s gotten pretty fucked up since then, hasn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“And… it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“Church, I don’t like it when things are complicated. I like clean-cut, straight-up answers. I don’t like secrets, I don’t like smoke, I don’t like rhetorical questions or passive aggression.”

“I know. What’s your point?”

“My point is, the situation with Wash, Epsilon, you, Freelancer. It’s complicated. It’s complicated as hell. Trying to sort through it all, trying to find a simple answer, it’s kept me up at night for _years_.”

“As if you could sleep.”

“You know what I mean.”

_There is one more incident I would like to discuss with you. Can we talk about Cecil Kyle?_

_…Wait. Are you serious?_

“So, you’re saying it’s no one’s fault?”

“No. I’m saying that, in all the years I’ve been thinking about things, replaying in my head everything that happened, all the lives it ruined, all the lives it _ended_ … There has only been one, simple answer, to one, simple question. Whose fault is it? So go ahead, Church. Ask me the one question I have the fucking answer to.”

“…Whose fault is it?”

_That was a long time ago._

_And yet you have very strong feelings about the memory. Would you like to talk about them?_

_No. I’d really rather not._

_It wasn’t self-defense, was it, David? What you did to Cecil Kyle?_

“The Director’s. Everything. What you went through, what Wash went through, what I went through, and Maine, and York, and Carolina. What they _all_ went through was his fault and his fault alone. And I swear to god, Church… one day…”

_Do you remember that man I mentioned earlier?_

_Yes. The one with the idea._

_He wants to give you a second chance. To help you expunge this data from your records and serve humanity. And he is the only one willing to do so._

_Hah… Tell me where to sign, Counselor._

“…One day, I’m going to put a bullet through his fucking head.”

—

“Simmons, get me out of this wall!”

“Hmm… how do I do this…”

“You’re not pulling from my center.”

“Wh- from the center? What the fuck is the center?”

“Get down and pull from the groin.”

“Ugh, uh…”

“It feels like you’re saving your strength. Don’t save your strength. Hurry, Simmons!”

“Hey, guys, hate to ruin your fun, but I think the big scary guy is getting faster!”

“Oh shit. Um…”

“Simmons! Where are you?! Come out here!”

“I’m here, hold on just a second! Donut, can you stand up?”

“Simmons, look at all this blood all over me.”

“Uh… okay? I’m looking.”

“Do you _really_ think I can stand up?!”

“…Right. Okay, uh… you know what, I should think about the mission.”

“What?”

“Huh?!”

“Not unless it’s a rescue mission! We’re part of the mission!”

“Guys! Big scary not-friend is looking even bigger and scarier!”

“It’s a noble sacrifice you guys are making, here.”

“No, no I’m not sacrificing. I’m not noble! At all! Listen to me, you don’t wanna go, I don’t want you to go!”

“Simmons, you can’t just _leave_ us! That’s so rude! I’ll bleed out! Or become Meta food!”

“I don’t want you to go!”

“I’ll always remember you, bye!”

“Start by remembering us right now! Simmons!”

“Dick Simmons, I regret ever calling you my friend!”

—

The second Washington opens his eyes, the screaming pain all over his body makes him want to close them, again.

“Oh, hey, he’s up,” Church says, appearing over Washington’s visor, bending over and giving Washington a little salute. “Hey buddy, how you doin’?”

Washington replies, “Ow.”

“Yeah, alright, stupid question,” Church mutters, giving Tex a small shrug. “Hey, listen hate to break it to you, buddy, but you gotta get up and stop Meta from killing the Reds. We’ve been hearing a lot of scary noises.”

Just then, on cue, a large smashing sound followed by tires squealing and a chorus of terrified screaming comes from just behind the pile of boulders Washington is wedged against.

Washington groans and struggles to sit up slowly, Church and Tex moving from the front of his face to either shoulder, so they’re visible in his peripheries.

“I’m going to need a minute,” He tells them, as they stare expectantly.

Tex replies, “Alright, princess, take your time.”

Washington slowly flexes each of his muscles, feeling himself out, making sure everything is in its right place. His head is pounding, his chest is throbbing, and every time he moves even an inch, he’s met with screaming pain and protest from every square inch of his body.

“What happened?” Washington groans, slowly pulling himself up, using the boulders to support most of his body weight, because god knows his legs aren’t going to get the job done quite yet.

“You got your ass kicked by the biggest group of idiots in the galaxy,” Church states. “Nice work.”

_RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHRRHRHRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!_

Washington picks his rifle up off the ground and looks around. “Something’s got him agitated.”

“Sure hope it’s not the sound of him enjoying brutal murder and dismemberment,” Church snarks, but Washington can feel the throb of his concern at the base of his skull.

Washington sighs and reluctantly leaves the pile of rocks, making his way out into the open, his movements growing sturdier with every step he takes. He can still feel the pain, god, can he still feel the pain, but he’s able to push past it. Like he always is.

—

“Hey, I know he’s a friend of yours, but I gotta tell you, that guy with the shiny head is kind of an asshole.”

“Wait, if you’re here, then where’s the- oh no, there’s the Meta! Come on, we have to hurry!”

“I have an idea. “Hey, you, dipshit!”

“You talkin’ to me?”

“Yeah, you. This is all your fault you stupid piece of junk. You got us in this mess.”

“ _Me_? It was _your_ friend we had to rescue!”

“Ah, bullshit. Now the Meta’s coming up here and he’s gonna kill all of us, starting with you.”

“What, are you doing?”

“I wasn’t even looking for you guys! I was trying to find-”

“Oh, I get it. Can it, you overgrown ornament!”

“Oh, now _you_ wanna start?!”

“Hey, I’m not done with you yet, ball bearing!”

“That’s rude.”

Your mother takes it in the exhaust port!”

“Come on Simmons, help us.”

“I don’t even know what you’re doing!”

—

“There’s Meta!” Tex cries, pointing at the top of the hill, where Meta’s running towards something.

“He’s heading for the guys,” Church says quickly, bouncing up and down in his hologram form. “Quick, Wash, hurry it up!”

“I just got _blown up_ , Church, I’m going as fast as I can!”

“Well go _faster_!”

“Are you even listening to me?!”

“No! I already told you, I never listen to you!”

Washington exhales angrily and picks up the pace.

—

“Your mother gets paddled like a pinball!”

“Hey, let’s leave mothers outta this!”

“We’re trying to increase the stress level.”

“We need some insults!”

“Um, okay. Grif, you’re so fat, you broke your arm and gravy came out. Sarge, I find a lot of your tactical decisions to be questionable if not downright mediocre.”

“…Not insults for _us_ , Simmons. For him!”

“I don’t understand the rules of your stupid game I just got here!”

“Ah, you guys are idiots.”

“This isn’t working. We need something to make him mad. _Really_ mad.”

—

Washington reaches the top of the hill and catches up with Meta.

“What’s going on?”

_RRRRRRRR! Rrrrrrrr…_

“…What? The Epsilon unit?”

_Rrr. RRRRRRRR_.

“But that’s impossible. …Shit. We need him, and we need him _now_. Before he remembers too much.”

Church asks, “What does he mean, Epsilon’s been activated? I thought it was just a fucked-up A.I. fragment in a storage unit.”

“Well apparently it’s _not_ anymore,” Washington says through his teeth, gripping his rifle. “Apparently he’s… alive.”

Washington feels the look Church and Tex exchange.

“So,” Tex says, sounding annoyed and agitated - two things Washington does not like Tex to be. “This has gone from an equipment retrieval mission to a kidnapping.”

Church says, “Are you saying one of my fragments actually survived? Can I meet it?”

“ _No_.” Washington says sternly, pushing on with renewed determination. He says, to Meta, “We need to get Epsilon _right now_. If we lose him again, if he remembers, it’ll make things too complicated.”

_Rrrrrrrrrr._

—

“Uh oh, look out, it’s the big guy! And there’s-”

—

**_“WASHINGTON!”_ **

As the wall crumbles, so does Washington. His limbs go slack, and he lets his rifle drop out of his trembling fingers, clattering to the ground at his feet. His thoughts are racing, and a little voice in the back of his mind reminds him that Church and Tex can hear all of them.

_Stop it, put that thing down. Leonard, come on, stop it. You’re gonna make me late._

_I have to go._

_But don’t say goodbye. I hate goodbyes._

“…Wash?” Church asks quietly, as Washington stays frozen in place, staring at the crumbled, charred wall that is the only thing standing between him and his A.I.

His A.I.

_WASHINGTON!_

“…Epsilon.”


	6. Chapter 6

“How’s Floaty McGee?”

“Eh, you know, same old. Still not working.”

“Is he dead?”

“How the fuck would I know? And even if he was, would it make a difference with this guy?”

“Meh. Probably not.”

“Hey, listen, speaking of Church and his whole not-dead thing…”

“Simmons, _please_ don’t tell me you’re about to drop more Blue Team Problems on me.”

“No, I think, actually… I think Church might have saved our lives. In Valhalla.”

“…Uh, is the heat getting to you, buddy? Church has been with _us_ the whole time.”

“No- no, not Epsilon. _Church_. The Alpha.”

“Right. The one that died.”

“Maybe _not_. If the EMP wasn’t powerful enough to kill Meta and Wash by completely frying their neural implants, then maybe it wasn’t powerful enough to kill Alpha, who was _in_ those implants!”

“But then wouldn’t the Meta still be super powerful since all those other A.I.s would be alive?”

“The other A.I.s weren’t full A.I.s, though, remember?”

“Right. They were copies.”

“No… you can’t copy an A.I. They were most-likely fragments. Parts of the Alpha that had to be shed, for some reason. I don’t fucking know. All I know is that they’re gone, but somehow, Wash has an A.I., and that A.I. saved our lives!”

“Why would _Church_ save _you_?”

“Well, I mean, I guess he was mostly trying to save Donut. Remember? He likes Donut.”

“So you’re telling me you’re alive because of _Donut_?"

“I guess… so. Yeah.”

“Wow. How does _that_ feel?”

“Nope. They’re right around this corner up here. _Grif and Simmons_ , right up here, where we’re walking!”

“Uh oh, here comes Sarge. Dibs on not telling him about Church Twins.”

“And you’ll see, when we get around this corner up here, we don’t have _any_ kind of floating device. No balls or spheres or anything.”

“Who’s he talking to?”

“You’ll see, big group of aliens! We don’t have _anything_ like that _at all_.”

“What? …Uh oh.”

“…Whah? Where am I?”

“Shhh! Dude, shut up, be quiet.”

“No, what-”

“Shut your hole!”

“What’s happening? How did I get here?”

“Oh, shit! Uh- uhhb- uuuh-”

“Don’t do it you fuck- _eeeeerrrrrrrrrrrr_!”

—

“What I want to know,” Church says as they walk back to Red Base, a very frustrated Meta and an unsettlingly silent Texas in tow. “Is why Epsilon sounds just like me. And also, how he makes my voice sound that badass. Like all like, ‘ _Washington_ ’ all badass like that. How do _I_ do that? Also, where do I get a body that can fly and shoot lasers. Think Amazon could ship something like that? I want to be out of your miserable head ASAP.”

“Can you just shut up?” Washington hisses, stalking up the ramp. “We need to figure out where they’re going, and if you ask them, they might be more willing to cooperate.”

Church scoffs. “Yeah, they better be. I’m the only fuckin’ reason they’re still alive."

Washington makes it back up to where the prisoners are, and has to take an extra few seconds to process the scene.

The medic is… stuck in a wall. Just… sitting there. Hopelessly. He raises his head to look at Washington and Meta, and sighs.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with,” He says sadly, voice thick, like he’s been crying, and Washington rolls his eyes.

Donut wails, “No! Take me, spare Doc! He’s done no wrong!”

Then he turns to Meta and asks, “This your handiwork?”

_Rrrrrr_.

“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself,” Washington grumbles, then walks up to stand in front of the cowering medic. After a moment of silence, he nods at Meta and says, “This is ridiculous, get him out of there. I can’t interrogate him like this.”

Meta approaches Doc, who whimpers and whines, “Stop it! Be gentle!”

_Rrrrr rrrr_.

“Try pulling harder, then.”

Church suddenly appears at Donut’s side and says, “Sup, buddy.”

“Church? No way!” Donut cries, pleased. “Were you the one who saved us earlier?”

“Yeah, well, you know, all in a day’s work.”

_Rrrrrrrrrr_.

“Grab lower, near the center of gravity.”

“Man, Simmons was right,” Donut carries on talking to Church. “He totally knew this Wash guy had an A.I. that was helping us. I had no idea it was you, though. Since when were you a computer program? Man, I must have missed a lot since I was gone. You’re so small, now! But hey, I guess it’s true what they say, size really doesn’t matter. Thanks for saving us!”

Washington snaps his head over to Donut and shouts, “Will you shut up?!”

After a pause, Donut turns back to Church and asks, in a loud whisper, “So, what’s this guy’s problem?”

Church laughs. “Man, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Washington turns his attention back to Meta, who’s still struggling with Doc. “Try the codpiece.”

Meta gives Washington a _look_ and a very obvious growl of disapproval.

“Oh, for- we’re all adults, here.”

_Rrrrrrrrrr_.

“No, I don’t want to try.”

Donut and Doc both say, cheerfully, to Washington, “Don’t repress your feelings!”

“You know,” Washington says to Church, as Meta jumps off the grave lift and flies across the canyon. “I think I liked them better when they were scared for their lives.”

Church shrugs. “Hey, I told you they were annoying.”

“You told me _Doc_ was annoying, you didn’t say anything about the pink one.”

“Didn’t I? Well hey, better late than never."

Washington asks, “Are there any of you that _aren’t_ annoying?”

Tex beats Church to a reply. “Nope.”

“Great,” Washington snaps, tapping his foot on the ground anxiously as he glances over at Donut and Doc, who are chatting amicably to each other. “While we sit here and waste time, Epsilon’s out there, remembering more and more and… it’s only a matter of time before he remembers _everything_.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tex pipes up, not projecting herself like Church, and Washington wonders if it’s because she doesn’t want to deal with the idiots. Washington wouldn’t blame her. “What the hell is your plan when we _do_ find Epsilon? Because I doubt he’s going to just _let_ himself be taken to the UNSC, now that he’s finally free. Especially if he only has _some_ of his memories. He’s probably scared shitless, right now.”

“Hey, uh, guys, by the way?” Church says. “Can y’all please give me a refresher of all this Epsilon shit, please? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ lost.”

“Later,” Washington replies, as the hook from the Jeep gets tossed onto the base by Meta. Washington hums and picks it up, looking over at Doc.

Doc, realizing what Washington’s thinking, squeaks, “Ohhhh no.”

—

“Caboose, is that you?”

“…Delta?”

“Caboose, I need you to listen. My time is brief. Epsilon is not in control right now, but he will be again, shortly.”

“Great!”

“Perhaps not. The encounter with Agent Washington has jarred loose many of his memories. Epsilon has not… historically, coped with these memories well.”

“What’s _that_ mean?”

“We fear he may pursue certain memories in particular.”

“Who is _we_?”

“Myself and the other memories of the Alpha fragments.”

“What the fuck is that, who the fuck are you, and what the fuck is happening?”

“Epsilon may not yet be aware of our presence, but eventually he will be. We cannot hide forever. It is likely, at this point, he will begin the cycle, again. This must not happen.”

“What cycle? A motorcycle? A _secret_ motorcycle? It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“He’s begun to search his memories, now. He is clearly looking for something.”

“Well you always did say memory is the key.”

“Memory _is_ the key, Caboose, but not everything that is locked is meant to be unlocked. He is coming back now. I must leave before he discovers me.”

“But… if he meets you in there then you can be friends. But not best friends. Because, you know, ‘cause that job’s taken? But, you know, maybe acquaintances?”

“…If only I were the memory that he’s looking for.”

—

“Well,” Washington says, standing over a now free Doc, who’s lying on the floor, clutching his crotch and groaning in pain. “That worked out better than I thought. Anyway, Doc.”

Doc whimpers, “Gimme a minute…”

“Fine,” Washington rolls his eyes and changes his approach. “Donut?”

“Yes!”

“Where is your team?”

Donut sits up as straight as he can and sing-songs, “Nyah, nyah, I’m not gonna tell you!”

Church slaps a hand over his visor. “Really not helping, Donut.”

Washington looks at Meta and nods at Donut. Meta shrugs and steps over to him, hitting him in the side of the head with the butt of his pistol.

“Owwwwie!” Donut whines, holding his head. “What was that for?!”

“I don’t have _time_ for _games_ ,” Washington hisses, walking over to Donut and picking Doc up on the way. He throws Doc against the wall beside Donut and points his rifle at both of them. “Where are they?!”

“I don’t know!” Doc cries, shielding his face with his hands. “I just got here!”

“Donut, for the love of god, just tell the man,” Church groans. “I’m gonna go with him and make sure he doesn’t kill anyone, alright? We just want to find Epsilon.”

“Wait, Epsilon?” Donut cocks his head. “That’s Caboose’s new friend.”

Washington deadpans, “What.”

“Yeah, I remember that name,” Donut nods to himself. “Caboose said it was going to be his replacement best friend, since Church died - which, I guess he didn’t, but he didn’t know that. He said it was a really good listener, and he was working on building it a body. Kept catching fire, though. Poor guy.”

“Well, Wash,” Church says. “There’s your reason they kept Epsilon. Looks like they didn’t purposely fuck you over, after all.”

Washington asks, “Where did Caboose take him?”

Donut hesitates, but then says, “They went to rescue Tucker. Some crazy guys with aliens killed the squad he was with in the desert, and we hid in the temple, but then we ran out of food, so I left for help. Tucker wanted Church, but when I got here, I found out Church had died - again, guess not, but you weren’t around, soooooo… Sarge and Grif went with Caboose to the desert! Caboose took it along. He’s gotten really attached to that thing.”

“I’m sure,” Washington says. “The desert…” He turns to Meta. “Pack up, we’re moving out.”

Doc hesitantly asks, “…What about us?”

Washington stares at him. “What _about_ you? You were helpful, you get to live.”

“Ohthankgod,” Doc wheezes, slumping back onto the wall and letting his body go limp.

“Ah, it’s a shame my foot is all fucked up,” Donut says sadly. “I totally woulda come with you, Church!"

Church sighs. “You really don’t want to come with us. Just… stay here. Doc can fix you up and you guys can… do whatever. Build a house, take up gardening, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“Sounds good, buddy!” Donut gives Church a thumbs-up, and Washington feels a surprising little burst of pure happiness bloom up in his implants. “See you around!”

As they walk to the Jeep, Washington asks, amused, “You really _do_ like him, don’t you?”

Embarrassment overtakes the bliss, and Church replies, scathingly, “Shut the fuck up.”

—

“Hey, uh, Caboose. You were the one who moved me from the Epsilon unit to this new body, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I am really good at ergonomics.”

“Uh… do you mean electronics?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Okay, good. Then I need you to come with me. I just remembered something. Something that could help me.”

“Sure!”

“…You don’t want to know the details?”

“Nope.”

“Could be dangerous.”

“Yeah… I have armour. It’s blue.”

“Alright, well, let’s go then. I actually thought it would take longer to convince you. Come on, I wanna get to the facility before nightfall.”

“Uh, you wanna bring the Epsilon unit?”

“Is it necessary to… do your thing?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Then who cares. Leave it. Where we’re going… we won’t need it.”

—

Church pops up in front of Washington halfway through the trip, while Washington is double-checking all their equipment.

“Hey, think this counts as ‘later,’” Church says, folding his arms. “Tell me about Epsilon.”

Washington asks, “What do you already know?”

Church thinks for a moment. “I know he was your A.I., and he went crazy and killed himself in your head. And I know _that_ was because he was the only A.I. that remembered all the torture and shit. I know he’s my fragment, so that kinda makes me his dad. And I know he’s got a badass laser face.”

Tex pops up beside Church and says, “What if I told you Epsilon is the reason you don’t remember Epsilon?”

“I’d say for a chick who likes things simple, you’re sure making shit sound pretty fuckin’ complicated.”

“She’s right,” Washington replies, keeping his voice carefully void of emotion. “Remember when I told you about all the A.I., back at the Freelancer facility?”

“Yeah,” Church replies, his voice soft, as he pieces it together. “Wait, yeah. ‘Memory is the key.’ Epsilon was Alpha’s memories. Epsilon was… _my_ memories. He’s why I can’t remember the, uh, the torture. Or much stuff about Freelancer. Because I gave him all my memories.”

Tex nods. “Get it, now?”

“I guess,” Church looks at Washington. “I get it. You needed Epsilon to be proven innocent, because without his memories of all the illegal shit the Director did, you just looked like a rogue agent gone bad. But…”

“Caboose kept him,” Washington finishes. “Yeah.”

“So that’s what you’re doing,” Tex says, a bitter edge to her voice. “You’re hunting down Epsilon to get a clean record.”

Washington glowers at her. “I’m hunting down Epsilon to get the _truth_.”

“Yeah, alright,” Tex seethes. “You just keep telling yourself that, you selfish bastard.”

“Wha- Tex-” Church reaches out for Tex, but she disappears. Then Church disappears, as well, for a few seconds, but soon he’s back, shoulders slumped dejectedly. “I don’t get how she can hide herself from me in my own fucking data chip.”

“She can call me selfish, I don’t care,” Washington snaps, slamming a pack of ammo back into its bin harder than necessary. “I’m innocent, and I _will_ prove it.”

—

“…Facility, eh? I knew the Blues were up to something. Come on, men, let’s get after those Blues! Sounds like this is the big opportunity we’ve been waitin’ for!”

“You mean our opportunity to find a place to hole up until this all blows over?”

“Some place that isn’t a desert?”

“No! A place to finally restore the Blues to Command’s database. Get your typing fingers ready, Simmons!”

“…Okay, I’ll bring my carpal tunnel braces.”

“If we’re going to follow them, we’ll need a vehicle.”

“Well, I’m sure we can grab another one from the camp down there.”

“Why do we need a vehicle? The Blues are walking. I’m sure we can keep up with them on foot.”

“On _foot_?”

“Simmons, we’re the Reds. We don’t _walk_ anywhere! We travel as the good Lord intended; in the largest possible vehicle with the maximum horsepower allowed by local law enforcement. And if there’s no cars available, we find the biggest, nastiest, meanest land animal we possibly can, beat the crap out of it, and saddle that puppy up!”

“ _On foot_. Shame on you, Simmons. Shame on you.”

“Sorry.”

“Let’s just forget you ever mentioned it.”

“I think this should go on his permanent record.”

“Oh, just go get the fucking jeep, jackass.”

—

Meta pulls into another UNSC Outpost, this one less deserted than the other. Washington figured they can make it to the desert tomorrow, but both he and Meta need their rest. Even if that means staying in the barracks with other soldiers.

Meta heads over to replenish their ammunition supply, while Washington drives to the barracks to check in with the Commanding Officer on duty. Church is still and silent in the back of his mind, a very strong feeling of caution pulsing through his implants, and Washington can’t blame him. He feels the same.

Fortunately, the C.O. doesn’t ask too many questions, just takes Washington’s old name and rank, throws it into the system, and gets him beds for himself and Meta.

Washington keeps to himself as the other soldiers bustle around him, storing their equipment in lockers and getting into their bunks. A few of them glance his way, his armour drawing attention. He thinks maybe he hears a few murmurs about ‘Project Freelancer,’ but it could all be in his head, so he ignores it.

He puts everything in his locker, but he hesitates as he goes to hang up his helmet. He looks down at his reflection in the visor with a frown, and then turns it over and examines Church’s chip; pulsing blue in its slot.

He sighs and puts the helmet back on, feeling his implants spark to life as they start up again, Church settling back into them.

“You okay?” Church asks.

“Fine,” Washington types in the passcode for the locker and watches it seal shut, then heads to the bunks. “Just want to keep you close. Call me paranoid.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I would never hesitate to,” Church jokes. “You crazy, paranoid weirdo.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Washington snaps.

Church just laughs, and settles comfortable at the nape of Washington’s neck.

When they get to the bunks, Washington finds a free one and climbs in, continuing to ignore the chattery, boisterous soldiers around him. He turns on his side and turns the brightness down on his HUD, but keeps his eyes open and stares at the mission clock ticking up, second by second.

A little arrow appears on the bottom left of his screen, followed by letters.

> what’s the matter?

Washington sighs. What _is_ the matter? He feels paranoid - anxious. He can’t stop thinking about Epsilon. About what he must think of Washington, without all of his memories. He wonder what memories he _does_ have.

_He’s probably scared shitless, right now_.

Washington feels Church’s impatience as he waits for an answer, clearly not camping out in his head for once, clearly not listening to his scattered thoughts.

Washington breathes deep, eyes flickering from the message back up to the mission clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Seconds go by, and Washington is here, unmoving, trying to sleep but knowing he won’t be able to, tonight.

> talk to me, wash. everything on the table, remember?

Washington smirks.

> And here I was thinking you never listened to me.

> smartass

Washington laughs breathily, then rolls onto his back.

_Where’s Epsilon?_

_Someplace safe_.

For the first time in his life.

> seriously, what’s wrong?

_Selfish bastard_.

Washington finally replies.

> I don’t know. I just feel like I’m running out of time.

> running out of time?

> To do the right thing.

—

“Alright, I think this is it.”

“This? This doesn’t look like anything.”

“Yeah, it’s not supposed to, that’s kinda the idea. Come on, this way.”

“Man. You really need to clean this place up.”

“Caboose!”

“Coming!”

“Come on… oh yeah, here we go. It’s this way.”

“My this way or your this way?"

“There is no- it’s the same ‘this way.’ Okay, yeah, this is… it. I think.”

“It’s a wall. We came all this way for a wall?”

“ _Caboose_.”

“Sorry. It’s a really… great wall.”

“Hello. This is a private facility. Visitors are not welcome. Please leave immediately. Or we will be forced to take lethal measures to ensure the safety of our property. You have thirty seconds to comply, or die! Have a nice day.”

“…Sheila? Is that you?”

“No, I am the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System. You may call me FILSS. It is a pleasure to meet you. You now have fifteen seconds to live.”

“Woah. Dying sounds like a bad idea. Maybe we should leave.”

“Oh my… the Director. I am so sorry, I did not recognize you, Sir. It has been such a long time since you have visited. You look very different.”

“…Talkin’ to me?”

“Yes. You _are_ the Director of Project Freelancer, are you not?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Of course, that’s- that’s totally me. I just haven’t been around because I’ve been, doing, you know… Director stiff. Can’t really get into it. Secret project.”

“How may I assist you, today?”

“Can we, uh… Can we come in?”

“Certainly. Please watch your step.”

“…Kinda spooky in there.”

“Yeah… Why don’t you go, first?”

“Me?”

“Well I mean, you’re the one with… the gun, and everything.”

“Yeah, but the tree seemed to like you best… Uh, hey, Sheila, could you-”

“Are you speaking to me?”

“We’re just kinda used to calling you by that name? Um, maybe you should just answer him when he calls you that. Probably easier for you to change than it is for him. …He’s kinda dumb.”

“Alright. I will respond to that name, as well. You are the Director, after all.”

…Right. I am.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to write a fight scene using nothing but sound-effects and dialogue is hard, but i'm gonna go ahead and assume we've all seen season 8 episode 10 enough to be quite familiar with it (and if you haven't, what are you doing with your life??), so i'm putting faith in you guys.
> 
> aside from that, my regular old fight scene writing is definitely sub-par. i am far from familiar with writing this kind of thing, but practice makes perfect, so cut me some slack and do your best to enjoy...

_Hand me the Epsilon unit, please._

_Ready, Washington?_

_Will I ever be?_

_…Turn off artificial gravity, turn him around. Someone bring me the chip._

_God- that hurts!_

_Everything’s fine, Washington._

_You can call me Wash._

_Alright, Wash. Just take a deep breath, this’ll be over soon. It’s going fine, you’re doing great-_

_—Stop it, put that thing down._

_Ah- AH!_

_What’s going-_

_What is-_

_Agent Washington’s vitals are spiking._

_Leonard, come on, stop it._

_Washington, can you hear me? Wash?_

_Don’t let him get the tools!_

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH- AH! AAAAHHHHH!_

_Secure him! Get him under control!_

_Hhhhhhh. Hhhhhhh. Hnnnngghhhh-_

_I have to go._

_AH! No, don’t- don’t- don-AAAHHHHH!_

_Is the sedative prepared?_

_Yes, sir._

_Wash? Wash, can you hear me?_

_DON’T! DON’T SAY IT- ARGH!_

_Fuh- give me the needle- Wash, listen, you’re going to be okay-_

_But don’t say goodbye-_

_The sedative has been injected. Don’t worry, Wash, everything will be okay._

_…I hate goodbyes…_

—

Washington’s eyes snap open, and immediately, he can feel worry pulsing through his skull. He focuses, turns the brightness back up on his HUD, sits up to see a few soldiers awake as well, all staring at him.

“Yeah,” Church confirms, heavy at the back of his mind. “You were talking in your sleep.”

Heat rises to Washington’s cheeks as he swiftly gets out of bed and walks across the room, to Meta’s bed, not looking up at any of the staring men. He shakes Meta awake, and then rushes to the storage room, expecting Meta to get the hint and follow.

Church asks, “What were you dreaming about? Your vitals were spiking like crazy… are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Washington responds, but his voice is quieter than it should be, and cracks halfway through the word. He quickly collects his things with trembling hands, and is relieved when Meta appears moments later and starts doing the same.

“You’re _not_ fine-”

“Shut up,” Washington says weakly.

“No, not until you tell me what the fuck that was ab-”

“ _Stop talking!_ ” Washington snarls, tearing his helmet off and throwing it to the floor. He picks it up quickly, as soon as he sees Meta’s head turn downwards towards it, curiously, but he doesn’t put it on. “Come on,” he says to Meta. “We’re leaving. We can get to the desert by midday. We’ve wasted too much time, here.”

_Grrrrr rrrrr_.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Washington snaps, tucking his helmet under his arm and stalking to the exit.

He’s stopped at the door by a couple of young soldiers, baby-faced and tired-eyed, with sympathy written across their faces.

“You don’t have to go,” one of them says softly. “We all get it. Nightmares, right?”

The other one shrugs and says, “Yeah, it’s no biggie. Wouldn’t be human if we didn’t have them, with what we see out here. We know what it’s like-”

“No. You don’t,” Washington says harshly, pushing through the door. As it closes behind him, he adds, softly, “And I pray you never have to.”

—

“I am sorry, this area is restricted. Only the Director himself may access this entry. I am sure you understand. The nature of our experiments is such that-”

“Open it.”

“Excuse me, Director?”

“I want you to open it.”

“Are you certain, Director? You never bring visitors into this-”

“I said. Open it.”

“…Alright. Unlocking. … Would you like me to archive your… personal project?”

“No. Let’s see _everything_.”

“…If you say so, Director.”

—

As Meta pulls out of the outpost, Washington puts his helmet back on, and is happy that Church is blessedly silent and doesn’t go near his implants. He sighs with relief and sits back in the jeep, letting his eyes fall shut, the sun turning his eyelids rosy orange.

“You said you hated goodbyes.”

Washington opens his eyes and sits up, blinking tiredly at Tex, who’s standing in front of him.

“What?”

“You said, ‘Don’t say goodbye, I hate goodbyes,’” Tex elaborates, her tone unreadable but soft. “Where did you hear that? Why did you say that?”

Washington lifts a shoulder, stares down at his hands, feels small under Tex’s gaze. “During the implantation,” he answers. “Epsilon showed me all the memories, and I guess that one just… stuck with me. To this day, I think of her. It all comes down to her, doesn’t it? He did all of this for her. …For you.”

“Yeah,” Tex says bitterly, “For me. All of this and more.”

A pause.

“You know,” Washington says, finally looking up at her. “Sometimes I forget that you’re… whatever you are. Her, but not her. A shadow, but so much more than that. I’m so used to explaining things to Church, knowing he doesn’t- _can’t_ understand… I forget that you know everything. That you’re…”

The playful tone is back in Tex’s voice when she suggests, “Human?”

Washington smirks. “I suppose that’s a word.”

“’S alright, I’ll forgive ya,” Tex says. “I didn’t exactly play the part of _human_ back in the day. Makes sense that you’d assume.”

Washington chuckles dryly. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Tex snickers. “I could tell.”

The two fall back into a comfortable silence for a while. Tex moves to Washington’s shoulder, and the two of them watch the world fly by as Meta drives, watching the landscape change, the trees disappear, the land grow flat, as they make their way to the desert.

Tex finally speaks up, from Washington’s side. “The guys aren’t so bad, you know.”

Washington glances at her with a raised eyebrow.

Tex laughs. “Annoying idiots, sure. But they gave Church a place, a purpose, safety. They showed him loyalty and companionship he never got from anyone, before. And they’ve stuck together through everything Freelancer’s thrown at them. …More than we can say for our squad.”

“We had different circumstances.”

Tex hums in agreement, then goes quiet for a few seconds. But Washington can tell she’s not done talking, and he has nothing to say, so he waits, until she finally speaks up again.

“You're not a bad guy, Wash,” Tex says. “You’re just a lost kid in need of a cold beer and some perspective. A fresh start. And I’m tellin’ you from experience, that if you let them, these guys can give it to you.”

—

“What’re you up to, Blue?”

“Me? Oh, nothing. I am not hiding anything behind this door.”

_CRASH!_

“Uh, I think he’s lying.”

“What was your _first_ clue?”

“Let us see what’s in there!”

“In here? Oh, nothing is in here. Um, well, this probably isn’t even a door, either. It’s probably-”

_Gong!_

“What the heck was that?!”

“Oh- that was me. Uh, I said this isn’t a door, I said it’s a ‘gong.’”

“A _gong_? What the hell is a-”

_GONG!_

“Gong! …I’m just going to walk over this way, now… excuse me… yes, thank you… pardon me… coming through…”

_GONG! BANG! CRASH!_

“Yes excuse me, yes pardon me… Excuse me, yes, thank you… pardon me, coming through… yes excuse me, yes pardon me…”

_BANG! CRASH! BANG!_

“Um, Sarge? What’s the plan, here?”

“Men! We have the perfect ambush scenario.”

“I agree. Unless, wait. Are we the ambushers or the ambushees? Hey, can you ambush something that’s trying to beat its way through metal plating to get to you?”

**_SMASH!_ **

“Door’s open.”

“What the-”

“…”

_Whirrrrrrrr click_

“Okay. So who’s first?”

—

“That’s weird,” Washington says.

Right after Washington says it, both Church and Tex appear at either side of his head, just as confused as Washington.

“Is that a recovery beacon?” Church asks.

“Yeah, for Agent… Connecticut,” Washington says slowly, squinting at his HUD to double-check. “Yeah, it’s her. How is that possible?”

“It’s not,” Tex says sternly, arms crossed. “I killed her in the middle of the fucking ocean.”

Washington shakes his head. “Says it’s only a couple days old. She was here.”

“Or her armour was,” Tex replies. “We never did recover it, remember?”

“That has to be it,” Washington says. “Either way, we should investigate. Meta, I’m uploading some coordinates to your HUD, start heading that way. It might lead us to this temple Donut mentioned.”

Meta grumbles an affirmative and then, moments later, makes a sharp right turn and starts driving through the sand towards the beacon.

“If her armours here, that might mean the Insurrection is, as well,” Washington says. “Donut also said the people who showed up and attacked him and Tucker had aliens with them. We have to be prepared for anything. Tex, I want you in Meta’s suit again, in case we get ambushed. Church, I want you to…”

“Yeah? What?”

“…Set a reminder, I guess?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Church grumbles as Tex starts laughing. “It’s not my fault I can’t remember anything. This doesn’t negate my badass status!”

“Whatever you say, Church,” Tex snickers, then disappears, her figure throwing itself into the back of Meta’s helmet.

Washington takes his place behind the Warthog’s turret while Church curls up in the back of Washington’s mind to brood.

—

“Alarm! Security breach, Level Alpha! All personnel report for duty! This is _not_ a drill!”

“ _Run_!”

“Oh crap! Where is she?!”

“I don’t wanna die!”

“Sheila, we have to help them!”

“Help who?”

“The Reds! Tex is attacking them, we have to stop her!”

“Stop Agent Texas? Oh no, absolutely not. We should never interfere with an ongoing battlefield simulation test. Our job is to observe and document.”

“But she’ll kill them!”

“Oh, that would be _wonderful._ What a successful test!”

—

As they approach the temple, the sight of tall structures silhouetted in the distance, Washington calls to Church.

“I actually have a job for you, get up here.”

Church appears beside Washington’s helmet and says, “You’re lucky I don’t hold a grudge. What do you need?”

“See if you can fine-tune our heat signature detector and allow us to read it in the desert,” Washington says, pulling out his rifle and peering through the scope, searching for any signs of movement. “I'd like to know what we’re up against before we’re right on top of it.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

“Just do what you can,” Washington looks down at Meta. “You ready?”

_Rrrrrrr_.

“Good.”

—

“Hey Simmons, what the hell is going on in there?”

“You gotta help us! Do you know how to use that thing?”

“My sword? Fuck yeah I know how to use it. What’s to understand about swish swish stab? It’s a fucking sword, dude, it’s not a fighter jet.”

“Just come and help me.”

—

“Okay,” Church says slowly, popping up at Washington’s side, again. “I can sort of get something… not heat, though, it’s… cold? Must be aliens. Looks like four of ‘em.”

“That’s good to know, nice work,” Washington replies, then asks Meta, “You hear that?”

Meta growls an affirmative and picks up speed. Washington double-checks the rounds in his rifle and then straps it back onto his back, grabbing the handles on the turret.

“We might be able to get information out of them,” Church suggests. “I know, like, some honk-blarg. I could ask ‘em."

“…Honk-blarg.”

“Yeah, you know. Like alien language, or whatever. I know two honks means ‘yes,’ and I’m pretty sure I know a swear word.”

Tex pipes up, appearing at Church’s side, “Actually, we never confirmed if two honks meant yes or no. I say we kill ‘em before misunderstandings make things messy.”

Washington asks, “When the hell did you guys meet aliens?”

“One alien,” Church clarifies. “He came for Tucker once he got the sword - the Great Weapon-slash-key. Tex wanted to fuck him. Anyway, he wound up getting Tucker pregnant. Then Tucker gave birth to alien Jesus, and we met more aliens, but we didn’t get to talk to those ones.”

Silence.

“There’s… a lot about what you just said that I’m going to need a minute to process,” is Washington’s reply.

“We’ll explain later,” Tex snaps, punching her open palm with a closed fist. “For now, let’s kick some alien ass!”

—

“Um… can we use turrets on her? Or some explodey firey things?”

“That would be outside the bounds of my standard safety protocols. I cannot do that.”

“What do we do, Sarge?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never hit a girl in my life!”

“Yeah, I noticed. Try harder!”

—

Meta sends the Jeep flying over a sand dune, right into the group of aliens, who scatter away from the vehicle, crying out.

Washington manages to take one out with the turret, before they make it too close to the vehicle to be in range. So Washington jumps out, feet first, onto one of the aliens, pulling his rifle off his back and firing into its face.

Church quickly says, “To your left,” so Washington somersaults forward, away from an alien who had lunged at him. He rolls onto his back and fires blindly at the shape darting away, managing to hit it a few times.

Meta takes care of the rest, dive-bombing the remaining alien and stabbing it through the chest with the blade of his grenade launcher.

—

“Hey guys, look up there!”

“Hey, Caboose! Remember when I said not to help me? Forget that! I need you to help me. Right now!”

“…What holds up that crate?”

“Mechanical controls are on the left side of the console.”

_Creeeaaak- CRASH!_

“I can’t believe that worked! …Aw fuck, that didn’t work!”

“I knew that would not work. Agent Tex is a bit of a badass.”

—

Washington stands up and looks around, noticing three alien bodies lying dead on the ground, but can’t find the fourth.

“Church…”

“Working on it- up on the tower! Eight o’clock!”

Washington goes to turn around, but is forced to instead take cover behind the Jeep when purple laser bullets land by his feet. He crouches down on one knee and reloads his weapon, and moments later, Meta is joining him in his cover.

“Great, now what?” Washington asks.

_Rrrrrrrrr hssssssss_.

“Won’t work,” Tex says immediately, appearing briefly to address Washington. “Invisibility won’t work here, it’ll see our footprints. And if we set the bubble shield, we can’t fire out of it.”

—

“Wow, right to the mount, huh? Not even gonna buy me dinner? I like your style!”

“Simmons, what’re you waiting for?”

“They look the same! Which one do I shoot?!”

“Shoot the one who’s winning, dumbass!”

“—Grif! Watch it!”

“Uhhhh owwwww…”

“OW!”

“Wow, knocked the black right off ya.”

“That’s racist.”

—

“Hang on a sec, I think I…” Church trails off, but Washington hears his implants whirring. A second later, Church pops up between Washington and Meta’s helmets. “Okay, I have an idea. On my mark, drop a grenade under the front tire, right there, and then get the hell away from the car.”

Washington gives Church a look.

“ _Trust me_ ,” Church insists. “This’ll work. Ready?”

Washington and Meta exchange a glance.

_Grr_.

“Yeah, ready,” Washington nods.

“Okay, wait for it…” Church says slowly. The whirring in Washington’s implants grows louder, filling his head, and Washington wonders if the sound is because his implants are old, Church is old, or both. “Mark!”

Meta dives away, and so does Washington, after he wedges a grenade beneath the tire. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and prepares to get shot in the time it takes for the grenade to go off.

—

“You’re all clear, Simmons! Now shoot her!”

“Fire in the hole!”

_Blam!_

_Whoosh_

“…Are you fucking kidding me!? _Run_!”

—

Washington rolls over just in time to see the grenade go off, sending the Warthog flying right up to the pillar, knocking it, and the alien, over.

“Now’s the time to show off your aim, buddy,” Church says in Washington’s ear, snapping him out of his awe.

Quickly, Washington hoists his rifle up and fires at the falling alien through the debris, getting him in the chest, shoulder, and finally, the face.

Tex and Church both flicker to life beside Washington’s head, high-fiving each other as the alien crumples to the sand and doesn’t get up.

“Woohoo! Headshot!”

—

“Hey, Tex!”

_Clack!_

“How ‘bout you pick on somebody your own size?”

—

“Ow. Ow! Oooow! Stop it! Tex, you are embarrassing me- ow! Stop! Ah- hey, are you gonna- ah! Are you gonna help me or not?!”

“Nah buddy, I think you got everything under control. We’ll just hang back here.”

“Yeah, you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Hey, what’s she beating him with?”

“I think that was his old body.”

“You mean he ain’t a floating cue ball any more? That’s too bad. Had a few more nicknames in my side pocket. We’ll certainly miss you, Lord Hackensack of the Roundalots.”

“Beating him with his own body? That doesn’t seem physically possible.”

—

They pile up the alien bodies and set up camp on the other side of the base, by the temple. Washington gets to work fixing up an abandoned Jeep, while Meta takes Tex and searches the perimeter to make sure they haven’t missed any hostiles.

“I’m impressed with what you did, back there,” Washington says absent-mindedly, as he buries his upper half under the hood of the vehicle. “You measured the angle you’d need and positioned the grenade accordingly, right?”

“Yup,” Church replies, his avatar shifting from foot to foot out of the corner of Washington’s eye. “I figured I should make up for the, uh, car incident. Back in the canyon.”

Washington pauses, standing up and looking at Church with a frown. “Are you still thinking about that?”

Church shrugs. “I guess. I kinda had a freak-out, there, and it almost cost you your life. Hard to forget about.”

Washington sighs and sits back on the sand, setting his tool down beside him. Church floats over so he’s standing beside his helmet once again, still shifting nervously.

“Do you… remember anything?” Washington asks. “About the torture.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Church answers. “Aren’t those memories all with Epsilon?”

“It’s just… back at headquarters, before we set off the EMP, something you said. You were the one to say ‘they tortured it.’ I didn’t bring it up first, you did,” Washington shrugs. “I thought maybe Epsilon had shown you something.”

Church tilts his helmet downward, suddenly very interested in the sand below them. “I- sure, I saw some shit, but… I mean, nothing _specific_.”

“You’re not a very good liar, Church.”

“Fine, whatever!” Church throws his hands up. “I saw it, okay? I saw the scenario where you died. Happy?”

“And back in the canyon, you remembered it. And panicked.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Church crosses his arms and hunches over, kicking the air with his foot. “Does it matter? I got over it.”

“You know I saw it too, right?”

Church looks up. “What?”

“The torture, all your memories,” Washington taps the side of his head. “I have them all. Epsilon showed me everything. I know what you went through more than anyone, Church. Even you. So when something like that happens… just… don’t feel like you need to hide it.”

After a moment of silence, Church flops down onto the air, mimicking Washington’s sitting position. “It’s just all a load of crap,” he says, staring off towards the temple. “Seems like everyone knows what happened to me except me. …I feel like I don’t even have the right to be upset about it.”

Washington opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the sound of his radio firing up.

_RRRRRRRRR!! GRRRHSSSSSSSS!_

“Hey Wash, it’s Tex.”

Washington sits up straighter, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s going on?”

“Meta found something. Looks like an A.I. storage unit. It’s empty, but he’s freaking out about it. You gotta get over here.”

Washington scrambles to stand, Church flickering out like a burnt-out lightbulb and hovering uncomfortably - nervously - at the edge of Washington’s implants.

“We’re on our way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love reading all the comments you guys have been sending my way! if you'd like to PM me or talk to me more about this fic etc, my tumblr is @peteor, so come by and send a message/ask if you want :)
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter, and i hope you look forward to the next one!


	8. Chapter 8

Meta and Tex are standing at the entrance of a cave, something purple at Meta’s feet. When Washington gets closer, he recognizes it as the Epsilon unit, and knows why Meta is so angry.

_Rrrrrrrr!_

“Yeah, I know,” Washington huffs, kicking the sand at his feet in frustration. “Dammit! They must be gone. We were so close!”

“Do we know where they could’ve gone?” Church asks, his figure appearing on top of the Epsilon unit, peering at it curiously.

“No, this was our only lead,” Washington sighs. “Shit.”

_Grrr_.

“You’re right, we can modify it,” Washington bends over and picks up the unit, tucking it under his arm.

Tex appears beside Meta. “Modify it?”

“We were trained to, back in Freelancer,” Washington explains, then pauses. “Well, I guess you were never in those classes. We learned how to modify a storage unit, turn it into a capture unit, in case we ever lost control of an A.I.”

Tex flickers. “Oh.”

Washington starts walking back to camp, Meta in tow. “I know you don’t approve of what I’m doing, but at this point, capturing Epsilon and trapping him in here is the best strategy we’ve got. He must remember enough, now. He’ll put up a fight.”

“He _should_ put up a fight,” Tex argues, appearing in front of Washington’s helmet with folded arms, stopping Washington in his tracks. “You’re going to kidnap him and turn him over to the enemy just to get out of prison.”

“Yeah,” Church agrees, popping up beside Tex. "And what’s gonna happen to us, by the way?”

Washington asks, “What do you mean?”

“Do you seriously think the Chairman is just gonna _let_ you take two A.I. from Project Freelancer home with you? He’s gonna want us back, and he’s gonna make us into his own personal slaves, or something!”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Washington replies, then walks through the holograms, continuing back to camp. “For now, we need to figure out where the Sim. Troopers took him.”

“They’re probably on their way back to Blood Gulch,” Church suggests. “Or their new base, Valhalla or whatever. That’s usually where we all end up after a crazy adventure.”

“Unless _Epsilon’s_ taking _them_ somewhere,” Tex argues. “If he’s getting his memories back, he might have them escort him places he remembers. Offsite storage facilities, old Freelancer bases… he could be anywhere, depending on what memories he has.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Washington says, picking up his tools and going back to work on the Jeep. “But regardless, we’ll stay here for the night. Meta, find something to start a fire with.”

_RRRRrrrrrrrrrr_.

“Yes, I know we’re in the desert,” Washington mutters. “Just use whatever brains you have left, and figure it out.”

Tex says, “I can’t believe you’re not the slightest bit worried about him crushing your skull next time you talk to him like that.”

“I know how to handle Meta,” Washington replies. “When he _does_ turn on us, I’ll be ready. But he doesn’t have his opportunity yet, and will hopefully never get it. So for now, I talk to him however I like, and you should stay out of it.”

—

"I'm waking her up.”

“No way, buddy. You must have missed the smashfest we just went through. I ain’t repeating that.”

“Hey, we made a deal. I unlock you, you have to help me with her.”

“Hey, now hold on a second.”

“This affects the entire group. I say we put it to a vote. All those in favour of waking her up and letting her kill us, say ‘aye.’”

“Aye. Caboose?”

“Present.”

“No, we’re not doing that. Just say ‘aye.’”

“You. Oops! I mean me!”

“No, _‘aye._ ’”

“Church.”

“ _Just say ‘aye_!’”

“Oh, I get it, right, sorry. My left eye or my right eye?”

“He votes yes.”

“I would also like it noted that I was present.”

“Okay! And all in favour of _not_ doing that thing and leaving her asleep and _not_ getting killed by the person we’re not going to wake up because nobody is that stupid, say ‘nay.’”

“That was like… a quadruple negative.”

“Just vote.”

“Nay?”

“I didn’t even understand the question, so I’m just gonna say ‘blueberry.’”

—

“I didn’t want to fuck him, alright? We talked about this.”

“You spent more time staring at his _dick_ than you did Tucker’s _sword_ , and that’s saying something, ‘cause you could barely take your eyes off of that thing.”

“There’s a difference between not being able to do something, and not wanting to do something, Church. It was either look at the sword, or look at you idiots. And I spent enough time looking at you idiots.”

“Well what’s your excuse for staring at- or, sorry, for ‘admiring his muscle structure.’”

“…Did I really say that?”

“You really said that. Suspiciously. Like a liar.”

Washington rolls his eyes and stokes the fire, doing his best to tune out the strange conversation happening in his head. Meta had managed to scrap together some sort of flammable substance that Washington doesn’t recognize and some gasoline. From there, all it took was one bullet from his pistol to start a fire.

A far cry from the traditional wood campfire, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, the disgusting smell of gasoline and burning rubber the fire produces seems to just… make sense.

“Yeah, okay, fine, I'll admit it,” Tex huffs. “He had the biggest dick I’d ever seen, and I took it as a personal challenge. I wanted to fuck him.”

“Hah! I knew it!”

“You seem weirdly happy about your girlfriend wanting to cheat on you with an alien.”

“Meh, you’ve cheated on me with worse.”

“True.”

Washington can’t believe he was ever scared of her. She’s just as ridiculous as the rest of them.

—

“Tex? Tex, hello? Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you. What do you want?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do I want?’ The guys just want to make sure you’re not gonna, y’know, beat the living shit out of them if we wake up.”

“Aww, what’re they gonna do, cry?”

“What’s wrong with you? And why did you go nuts when we woke you up?”

“Last time I was in a place like this, I was trying to get _out_ as fast as I could.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“They just got in my way. It’s not _my_ fault they can’t fight.”

“Okay, so is that, ‘I _won't_ beat the living shit out of them any more?’”

“We’ll see.”

“…I guess that’ll have to do.”

“But I _am_ gonna deck the one with the sword for making that stupid ex-wife crack.”

“Alright, that seems fair. So, we’re… cool?”

“Well, _I’m_ cool.”

“…Nice to have you back, Tex. Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, I didn’t _ask_ to come back. Apparently _somebody_ decided they couldn’t live without me.”

“I thought you would be happy, you know, being alive is typically better than being dead.”

“Yeah. Everybody _always_ seems to know what’s best for Tex.”

“So, this is it? You’re just gonna be abrasive right out of the gate? Not even a thank you?”   


“Oh, I see, we’re gonna make this about _you_ for a change. How refreshing.”

“Alright. I’m gonna go, now. Nice talking to you.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

—

Washington doesn’t sleep, that night; doesn’t even try. He knows the dream the previous night was triggered by seeing Epsilon again, and he isn’t too keen on closing his eyes and seeing what other nightmares the re-appearance of his A.I. might dredge up.

So he focuses on fixing up the Jeep, and when that’s done, he moves onto the storage unit. Neither Church nor Tex are active in his implants. Washington assumes they’ve retreated back into Church’s chip for some alone time, which is a good thing for Washington, because he wants alone time too.

He’s glad he didn’t directly implant Alpha. Not that he would be able to; his new chip is UNSC standard for Smart A.I., not the smaller devices custom-made for Project Freelancer. Washington learned the previous year that if he and Church were going to get along, they couldn’t be near each other constantly, and having even this smallest separation given their situation is undoubtedly beneficial to both of them.

Still, not being able to feel Church’s presence in his head is… Washington doesn’t want to say lonely. He understands why his teammates all enjoyed their A.I. back during the Project, though. Especially with the way everything was falling apart around them.

It must have been nice, to have someone to trust whole-heartedly. Washington could use someone like that.

He has it now, doesn’t he? Washington can tell Church is keeping things from him, but concealing truths is a far ways away from lying. Church doesn’t seem like a liar. And Tex, despite being annoyed with his methods, seems to at least want to keep Washington alive.

The capture unit protests and sparks, but eventually starts up, glowing a soft, rhythmic, pulsing red. Washington stares down at it, cradles it in his arms, and wonders what Epsilon saw in there, all the years he was kept in storage. Did he make a home? Was it just empty space? Was he even alive?

He’s alive, now. Thanks to the Simulation Troopers.

Washington wonders why they did it, why they activated Epsilon. Was it an accident?

Maybe Caboose just wanted a friend.

It wasn’t to screw Washington over. They were just a group of idiots who didn’t know what they were doing; didn’t know what they were holding onto.

But still.

Washington thinks about what Tex said, about a fresh start. From how she said it, it seems she has a lot of respect for them. They protected Church, they took her in, they let her be human.

Which is more than Washington can say for Project Freelancer.

Project Freelancer… changed them. All of them. Tex was just unlucky enough to be born into it, retaining nothing of any past life, nothing to hold onto. Just the need to fight for her species.

Washington thinks, he can relate. Because Church was right. He has no home outside of the UNSC. He burned the few bridges he had before he left his planet, and isn’t that why he was so desperate to join the Project in the first place? A court-martial meant the end of his career; meant that he’d prove them all right.

The military was no place for a psychotic kid with a volatile temper and an authority problem.

But Washington isn’t that kid, anymore.

He’s something far, far worse.

Washington glances over at a snoring Meta and thinks, _what did they turn us into?_

Washington looks back out at the sun, dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with reds and golds, and thinks, _because whatever it is, it’s far from human_.

—

“When I was beating the hell out of the Reds, the alarm said it was ‘Level Alpha.’ Do you know why?”

“You know, I didn’t think about that. No.”

“Then I want you to have Sheila give me access to the files here.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna figure out exactly what they did to me, here. I need to know who I am.”

—

Just as Washington fades from consciousness, slowly falling asleep, Church pops up in front of his face.

“‘Sup.”

Washington jolts awake, sitting up and gripping his gun hard, glaring at Church. “Jesus _Christ_ , Church.”

“Sorry, geez,” Church holds his hands up and takes a step back. “Looks like someone’s a little jumpy.”

“What do you want?”

Church shrugs. “Was just checking on you, I guess. Been gone for a few hours.”

“I noticed.”

“Aw, did you miss me?” Church asks with a cheeky smirk. Washington’s glare sharpens, and even though Church can’t see it, he must be able to feel it. “Alright, yeesh, not the time to joke around, I get it. I just wanted to ask more questions about Epsilon.”

“What else could you possibly want to know?” Washington asks exasperatedly, slumping back against the rock he’d nearly fallen asleep against. He’s somewhat grateful Church appeared when he did, because even though he’s tired, he still doesn’t want to sleep.

“Uh, I dunno,” Church shrugs again. “Whatever else you’ve got to tell me.”

Washington sighs. “I don’t _have_ anything else to tell you, Church.”

“Oh, okay,” Church hums to himself. His attention is captured by the modified storage unit still in Washington’s arms, and he flutters down to it, leaning over it, similar to the way a curious child would loom over an anthill. “That thing doesn’t look too hot.”

“It’s pretty badly damaged,” Washington agrees. “But it will hold out until we get Epsilon.”

Church looks up at him. “And after that..?”

“After that, it doesn’t matter,” Washington says sternly. “I just have to deliver it to the Chairman. I never guaranteed what condition I’d deliver him in.”

Church is uncharacteristically silent for a long moment. “…Seems kinda harsh. What if he gets trapped in there?”

“Not my problem.”

Church laughs under his breath. Washington narrows his eyes.

“What.”

“It’s just… we spent all of last year on a crazy revenge adventure to bring down Project Freelancer. Like, we fought through a bunch of soldiers, dodged the Meta, went on this big-ass suicide mission. And if I remember right, it was all to avenge Epsilon,” Church shrugs a shoulder. “I just find it kind of funny that you pretend you don’t care about him, now.”

“I…” Washington takes a deep breath and looks up to the stars, picking out a couple familiar constellations. “Things change.”

“I was in your head, Wash,” Church says. “Hell- I’m in your head _right now_. Things change, but your feelings about Epsilon haven’t, and I don’t think they _can_. So why are you trying to force yourself to do something you hate yourself for doing?”

“Because it’s the _only way_ ,” Washington says through his teeth, hands clenched into fists at his sides as he whips his head down to glare at Church. “I’d rather hate myself as a free man than go back to prison knowing I, what, did the right thing? Every time I do the _right thing_ , every time I decide to be _selfless_ for once, it comes back to bite me in the ass. I’m _done_ with it. I _refuse_ to continue getting punished for righting someone else’s wrong.”

“This isn’t- what you’re doing isn’t _someone else’s_ wrong, Wash,” Church cries. “This is all _you_. You have the choice to do the right fucking thing, here. To _save_ Epsilon. Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted? A chance to save him when you couldn’t, before? You can _help him_ , this time!”

Without a word, Washington takes his helmet off and stands up off the sand. He immediately feels the desert heat on his face, hot air brushing against his heated cheeks. He’s furious, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He lets his helmet dangle from his fingertips as he starts walking.

He makes his way around the perimeter, just thinking.

_Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted?_

Washington runs a hand over his face and shakes Church’s voice out of his head.

He realizes he’s currently walking through unfamiliar terrain without a helmet on.

Situations change. Washington himself has changed. He’s changed too many times to count, for as long as he can remember. He remembers family, friends, boyfriends. All of those relationships ending with a tearful, sad, disappointed, “I don’t even know you, anymore.”

He realizes he left his rifle back at the camp. Is unarmed except for a knife at his hip.

He remembers being twenty eight years old, laying half-conscious in the Recovery ward, an A.I. program in his head, desperately begging for help. He remembers wanting to help - _needing_ to help.

He doesn’t remember Epsilon getting torn away from him.

But he does remember the confusion, rage, hurt, fear, _betrayal_ when North told him, “They removed it.”

He realizes Church is right.

Washington backs up against a pillar and sinks to the ground, letting his head hang between his knees.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Washington whispers, squeezing his eyes shut to block the tears he feels building behind his eyelids. “I don’t know who I am."

And he’s starting to think he hasn’t known for a long, long time.

—

“How’s it going in here?”

“Well, I'm helping her access all this data, and she's not constantly pounding me in the face, so, I would say that's good. Eh, it's a start, at least.”

“Hey, come over here, take a look at these. Sheila’s giving us a hard time, but we’re getting through. She only seems to want to listen to you.”

“Sheila keeps calling me ‘Director.’ Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“The Director… there’s almost no information on him. I asked Sheila, but-”

“I am sorry, but access to the Director’s personnel file is restricted.”

“Yes, Sheila, we know. You don’t have to keep repeating it.”

“I am just doing my job.”

“Can’t you mute her?”

“Don’t even think about it, buster.”

“Uh, I really don’t like it when girls pay direct attention to me.”

“Well, what did you find in the files?”

“Not much. Standard clerical info, whole bunch of win/loss statistics, psych profiles.”

“ _Psych_ profiles?”

“Yeah, they have one on everybody. Except the Director, and…”

“Let me guess. And you.”

“And _us_. No ‘Church,’ either. Everyone else is here, though. Full profile.”

“Heh, Washington used to wet the bed. Heheheheh, I’m gonna go tell the other guys.”

“So, no new info? Wild goose chase again?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Look at this picture, do you have any idea what that is?”

“What is that, ice? Wh-oh, yeah. I know that place that’s a uh, secure location like, um, like a safe house. Wait, how do I know that?”

“You know it because it’s a Freelancer base. And it’s not far from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angsty wash is best wash
> 
> anyway, update for you guys: i currently have 10 chapters written, and am working on the 11th right now. eventually, most likely, the updates are going to catch up with me. especially now, since we're coming up on the climax/finale of the story, and i will be putting my heart and soul into writing it the best i can!
> 
> so bear with me, stay tuned, and keep giving me feedback of what you like most and what you're hoping will happen before the end of this fic, and i'll try to make it satisfying for myself AND all of you. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: i know i added the canon-typical violence tag already, but this chapter is definitely the most violent in terms of graphic description. i DO try to keep it vague, though, mostly because i, myself, get squeamish around graphic depictions of violence.
> 
> but just so you all know what you're walking into, thought i'd let you know.

“Grif, where’s Simmons?”

“He’s messing around with some storage boxes. Trying to inventory them, see if we need anything. Nerd stuff.”

“That’s resourceful. Why aren’t you helping him?”

“I _am_ helping him.”

“How are you helping him by standing right here?”

“Oh, I’m on break. Fifteen minutes.”

“You’re always on break.”

“Hey, if you don’t use it, you lose it. Speaking of which, I’m also on Simmons’ break.”

“You know, I’ve reached a level where I’m not even disappointed in you.”

“How do you think _I_ feel? I’m spending my break talking about Simmons. I’d envisioned so much more.”

“Break’s over, go see what he’s up to.”

“Hhhhh, _fine_.”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine, _Sir_.”

“That’s more like it.”

—

Washington returns to the camp by sunrise to put out the fire, which is a decidedly more difficult task than he thought it would be, seeing as how they have limited water and they’re in the middle of an extremely hot desert. Washington winds up scooping handfuls of sand onto it, looking extremely foolish while doing so.

He has his helmet back on - put it back after his meltdown the previous night due to an uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability and the fear that Meta might be awake and notice he’d been crying if he returned without it. But only Tex is active inside the helmet; a silent presence in the back of his mind.

When Washington asked where Church was, she had replied, “Moping around somewhere, probably. I don’t know, and fortunately, I also don’t care.”

When Washington finally manages to put out the fire, Tex sparks to life at his side, and asks, “You figure out where they might be headed, yet?”

“No,” Washington replies curtly, trying and failing to not let his frustration come through in his tone. “I suppose we can try to track heat signatures, exhaust trails… but finding either in the desert after they’ve been gone for god knows how long is probably not going to happen.”

Tex says, “I’ll put Church to work on it, anyway.”

“Thought you didn’t know where he was.”

“Yeah, but he’s whipped as hell, Wash. I call, he comes running. Like a dog, except I actually _like_ dogs.”

Washington shakes his head. “I don’t understand you two. Why are you together if you can’t stand each other?”

Tex shrugs. “You ever been with someone just because you didn’t have any better options?”

Washington mutters, “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘yes,’” Tex says smugly, then continues, “It’s like that. But then add in the fact that we’re… _meant_ to be together. Call it residual memories, call it programming, call it co-dependency. Just whatever you do, don’t call it love.”

“You don’t love him?”

“Not in the way every part of my programming tells me I’m meant to,” Tex replies, and there’s a sad note to her voice; an underlying hopelessness. “But hey, we’re both more secure when we’re together, and that’s what matters. Especially now. Especially with what’s happening to Church.”

Washington side-eyes her and asks, after a pause, “What’s happening to Church?”

Tex scoffs. “Like you haven’t figured it out, by now.”

“I have my suspicions, I guess,” Washington shrugs a shoulder. “I assume he knows more than he’s letting on, and it’s damaging his psyche. I assume he may be entering the first stages of rampancy. I assume the more he remembers, the more it threatens his lifespan. I assume he’s not telling me because not even _he_ knows what’s going on. But you do.”

“Yeah,” Tex sighs. “And _I_ think I finally figured out your whole plan, here.”

Washington blinks at her. “What do you mean?”

“You want to protect him,” she explains. Washington opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “I can tell because I feel the exact same you do. The further we keep Church from Epsilon, the better chance he has of making it through the last, what, year and a half of his life? Year?”   


Washington mumbles, “Fifteen months.”

“Capturing Epsilon in that unit solves all of your problems, including this one,” Tex holds up her fingers and starts listing, “Keeps Church away from his memories, keeps you from going through a _very_ awkward reunion, and gets you your freedom. And then you get to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.”

“If only it were so simple,” Washington says sarcastically, mentally cursing himself for being such an open book, somehow. Though, it _is_ Tex. She’s the best at everything already, why not add ‘reading people’ to the list.

Washington picks the capture unit up out of the sand and places it gently in the back of the Jeep, his hand lingering on it for ten seconds too long.

_We’re…_ meant _to be together._

“Hey, Church, wake up and come here for a sec.”

“What’s up?”

“Think you can put your awesome heat signature skills to the test and try to find some clues about where the idiots might have gone with Epsilon?”

_Call it residual memories, call it programming, call it co-dependency._

“Uh… we’re in the desert, Tex.”

“No shit. Just give it a shot, alright?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

_We’re both more secure when we’re together, and that’s what matters._

Washington says, “I think I might know what Epsilon remembered.”

“What?” Both Tex and Church ask.

Washington tears his eyes away from the capture unit, looking up at Tex’s avatar.

“…You.”

—

“I’m leaving, Church.”

“What? Where?”

“Can’t say. There’s some things I need to look into.”

“You’re going to that frozen base, aren’t you?”

“I need to know more about myself, Church. And I’m not gonna find anything out by sitting around on my _ass_ with all of you.”

“Well, let us come with you.”

“You guys? This is a military operation. I need people with military training.”

“ _We_ have military training.”

“Uh, I need people who _understand_ the military training.”

“Wow, look who’s getting picky.”

“Yeah, beggars can’t be choosers.”

“No offense, but you guys just end up slowing me down half the time. Or… more than half the time. All the time is more than half the time, right?”

“You know what, fuck it. Why are we even arguing about this? We don’t wanna go anyway.”

“Yeah. Good luck on your mission to the empty base guarded by tons of real military dudes who’re all looking for you, anyway.”

“Yeah, hope you find you empty base and your files full of nothing.”

“Well _I’m_ going, and I’m not gonna let you stop me.”

“Yeah? Okay. I have a feeling I could use you before this is done.”

—

“Okay, so we know what he’s looking for,” Church says. “But we still don’t know where he’s going. So why even bring it up?”

“Tex,” Washington says, ignoring Church. “When you were hunting for the Director a few years ago, did you find any information that might be able to help us? Maybe something related to you… any offsite facilities… anything?”

“No,” Tex huffs. “Everything was a dead-end. Pissed me the hell off.”

Washington sighs, looking out at the desert horizon. “I think I’m starting to know the feeling.”

“Well, while we’re just sitting here doing literally nothing,” Church suggests, looking at Washington, “Why don’t you go get some shut-eye, bud? You didn’t sleep last night. Or the night before, really.”

Washington glowers at him. “I’m fine, I don’t need to sleep right now.”

“No, see, _we_ don’t need to sleep,” Church gestures between himself and Tex. “So we can keep brainstorming about Epsilon and his memories and where he’s going, _and_ we can keep trying to track head signatures. But _you_ , in case you forgot, are a human being, and need to fucking sleep.”

“He has a good point, Wash,” Tex agrees.

Washington asks, “And what if Meta wakes up and tries to take you guys while I sleep?”

Tex shrugs and replies, “I’ll do what I did last time. Jump in his armour, shut him down. Like you said, he’s not gonna turn on us if he doesn’t have an open opportunity. And like hell I’m gonna give ‘im one.”

Washington looks at Tex, then Church, then back to Tex. “…Fine.”

—

“Yo.”

“Very interesting…”

“Sarge wants to know what you’re doing over here, dipshit. I added the ‘dipshit.’”

“I think I found where the Freelancers stored some of their equipment for their armour.”

“Okay, okay, stop. I’ll just tell Sarge, ‘Simmons is doing something seriously fucking boring.’ Thanks.”

“The Freelancers all had A.I. and a special power, right? This is the equipment that let them do that.”

“Oh, cool. Like the invisibility and super strength and stuff?”

“Yeah, we can just hook them up to our armour and activate them.”

“And they would _work_?”

“Well, they need an A.I. to help them run exactly right, but they have to help in some way.”

“Would they even work when we’re… asleep?”

“I guess so. Why? …Wait, you wanna turn invisible and take a nap, don’t you?”

“Think about it, Simmons. The ability to nap wherever I want, and Sarge can never find me. Invisible nap is the best nap of all time!”

“No man should have that kind of power.”

“I would be completely unstoppable…”

“Actually, you would be the opposite of that.”

“Totally stoppable. Already stopped. Think about it, Simmons.”

“I _really_ don’t want to.”

“ _Think about it_ …”

“No.”

“…Are you thinking about it?”

“Unfortunately, yes, I am.”

“Then suit me up.”

—

Washington wakes up from a light sleep to a face-full of sand.

He spins around, alert, only vaguely aware of his bare face until he sees Meta standing beside the Jeep, holding Washington’s helmet. His heart plummets to his stomach as he scrambles back on all fours, putting distance between himself and Meta so he can properly analyze the situation.

“Meta…” Washington says lowly, as Meta calmly tosses Washington’s helmet from hand to hand, regarding Washington much like a mountain lion examining its prey; head tilted, a low hiss emitting from the back of his throat, body tense, ready to pounce.

_RRRrrrrrHhhhhsssssssssssssssssssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS_

“Don’t you do it,” Washington growls, standing up and digging his feet into the sand. “Don’t you _fucking_ do it.”

A rumble in the back of Meta’s throat that could be a laugh, and then Meta’s helmet is coming off, dropping onto the sand at his feet.

Washington is momentarily stunned by Meta’s face - both familiar and not. His bald head shines under the desert sun, and his orange eyes glow bright, but are void of any human emotion. His lips are dry, cracked, and curled up into a smirk, as he lifts the helmet to bring down over that face.

That face.

_What’s he in for?_

_Probably for all the headaches he’s been having._

Washington pulls his knife off his hip and steadies himself. He feels the rage coursing through his body and wonders why, when he knew this would happen, when he knew Meta would betray him, when he knew there was nothing of Maine left.

_Couple headaches, that’s it._

_So what’s different about Maine, then?_

Emotionless, Meta pulls his pistol off of his hip, levelling the barrel to Washington’s face with a steady hand.

And then he pulls the trigger.

—

“Hey asshole, are you dead?”

“Woah Simmons hey did you see that did you see? I saw it, I saw it totally did you see? I hit that wall. Man, that was fast, that was super fast I’m so fast, god, so fast why’s it so _hot_ in here?!”

“Grif, _calm down_!”

“I’m calm I’m totally calm _you_ be calm! Why would you say to be calm when you know I’m already calm? Isn’t it obvious that I’m calm? That doesn’t even make any sense you should make some sense why is it so _hot_ in here?!”

“What in Sam Hell is all that racket?!”

“Hey Sarge what’s up Sarge Simmons is doing some experiments and I’m helping him Sarge! Right now we’re doing the one where everyone talks slow and the lights are super bright and I can smell clouds and _man_ it is _so hot in here_!”

“We installed a speed unit on Grif and it’s sort of… malfunctioning right now.”

“Well, turn him off.”

“I can’t, they run on timers. We’re just gonna have to wait it out.”

“How long?”

“How long? What’s long? I like long stuff. I knew a giraffe once I think it was in a book, a giraffe book, the book wasn’t long but the giraffe totally was because of the neck you know? You know what I mean do you do you? The part that.. connects the head… to the… body… I’m… gonna go to sleep now.”

—

Washington rolls out of the way just in time, throwing his knife as he falls. He hears it impact something, and when he gets back up to the feet he sees the knife wedged in Meta’s left shoulder, Meta’s armour sparking.

This doesn’t seem to slow Meta down, though. Meta tucks Washington’s helmet under his arm and keeps firing. Washington breaks into a run to the left, diving into a somersault in panic when he feels a bullet clip his backplate.

Soon, Meta runs out of bullets, and Washington breathes a sigh of relief. But as he stands, he feels a sharp pain in the back of his upper arm and remembers - Meta has Simmons’ pistol, too.

Washington dives back down and starts rolling, feeling the bullets hit the sand only inches from where his body used to be. He counts down - twelve eleven ten nine… until Meta runs out of bullets again.

Then Washington jumps up and lunges at Meta. He’s able to tear his helmet out of Meta’s arms and throw it across the sand before he’s smacked in the cheek with the empty pistol.

As soon as he hits the sand again, he feels blood fill his mouth.

“God dammit,” he mutters under his breath and spits, vaguely seeing two teeth hit the sand along with the glob of blood and saliva.

He blinks the blurry black spots out of his vision and wills back the red, the rage, burning in his bones, because he knows if he can grasp that like he used to, he’ll be able to beat this shell of a man.

His limbs tremble as he crawls towards the Jeep, barely supporting his weight. He hears a growl and the there’s a foot on his back, throwing him forward against the side of the vehicle.

He feels his nose snap and then sparks are dancing in front of his eyes, his vision going blurry. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Meta stalking towards the helmet, fists clenched.

“ _No_ ,” Washington hisses, and then he’s there.

His pain fades into a dull numb as his anger erupts. Anger at being betrayed again. Anger at whatever monster Freelancer turned his _best friend_ into. Anger at an anything he can come up with - and boy, is it a lot.

It would scare him, and in a way, it does. Not the feeling, itself, but how comforted he is by it - how much he knows he’s going to have to rely on it to get him through this.

Washington reaches into the passenger seat of the Jeep and pulls out his rifle.

“Hey, Meta,” Washington says, voice thick with the blood in his mouth and the numbness to his lips. “Remember when I said I wasn’t that easy to get rid of?”

Meta roars and detaches his grenade launcher from his back, but by the time he has it in his hands, Washington’s already emptying his clip into his chest and sprinting to the side, avoiding the explosion from Meta’s late shot.

Unfortunately, the Jeep and everything in it doesn’t avoid that fate, but Washington doesn’t have time to worry about that, right now. Instead, he has to work on dodging his own knife, thrown back at him.

And he nearly does dodge it, too, but doesn’t completely, and cries out when it wedges itself into his shoulder.

_RRRRRRRRR._

_Payback_.

Washington watches, satisfied, as Meta abandons the helmet in favour of walking towards Washington’s doubled-over, bleeding figure.

He grabs Washington by the hair and pulls him up, tilting his head in confusion when he finally notices Washington’s silent laughter.

Washington grins, blood dripping through the gaps his missing teeth left behind, and looks up at Meta, every ounce of rage in his being collecting behind his eyes.

And Washington relishes in the way Meta’s face shifts, ever so slightly. Because Washington can tell, Meta knows, now. Meta _understands_ that he’s not going to win this fight.

Washington grabs the knife stuck in his shoulder and yanks it out, swiping it across Meta’s throat as Meta throws Washington backwards and backs away with a shout.

Washington hits the sand and feels the breath leave his lungs, but he’s rolling over and popping back up at lightning speed.

Meta’s crouched on one knee with a hand to his throat, blood spilling over his gloved fingers. Washington sprints up to him and kicks him in the chin, sending him falling back. Then he rushes him again, knife raised, ready to drive it home.

But he’s stopped by a blade in his stomach.

Right.

Meta’s weapon.

Meta gurgles a growl around the blood flowing out of his throat. Washington wheezes, blood flowing freely from his mouth, splashing onto Meta’s already red-stained armour.

“No,” Washington manages to choke out, gripping his knife with white knuckles. He plants his feet firmly back onto the sand and pulls himself off of Meta’s blade.

Then he falls back down to the sand, but his hand comes down with his body, and the knife pierces Meta right between the eyes.

No getting up from that.

And sure enough, Meta goes limp and lifeless. Washington wastes no more time staring at the very obvious dead body. He’s bleeding out, and knows his only chance for survival is in a chip, in a helmet, about ten feet away.

So he makes the crawl, even though his entire body is screaming at him to stop. Even though his rage has dissipated and faded. Because if there’s one thing that is more powerful than Wash’s blinding rage, it is his intense, _desperate_ need to survive.

So he makes that _fucking_ crawl. Ten feet isn’t long, Washington knows, but it feels long while steadily bleeding out, leaving a trail of blood on the sand behind him.

Finally - _finally_ \- he makes it to his helmet, and falls heavily down to his side. He grabs it and slips it on, feeling his implants come to life.

He feels his armour lock down, can hear Church and Tex speaking rapidly about vitals, and blood loss, and biofoam.

He hears Church say, “Just hang in there, Wash, we've got you.”

Hears Tex say, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him.”

Thinks it’s weird that Tex would apologize. She doesn’t seem like the type.

And that’s the last thought he has, before the pain finally catches up to him and throws him into unconsciousness.

—

“Hmm…”

“What is it, Grif?”

“This is weird. If I’m reading this right, there’s a bunch of other Red and Blue bases.”

“Of course there are, Grif! The war is huge. The fate of the galaxy rests in the balance!”

“Or… not.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Here, check this out. I’m looking at the list of missions for all the different bases, and some of them look… familiar.”

“Let me see. …Huh, apparently they set up bases in various locations and then send a Freelancer in for… training purposes.”

“ _Training_?”

“Practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah. The Reds and Blues are just there to test the skills of the Freelancers.”

“You mean the Blues.”

“No, I mean both of us. It says here that ‘Simulation Bases will present scenarios that may occur for Freelancer agents in a galactic battle field.’"

“Simuwhatsin?”

“He means we’re like lab rats.”

“Wha- what- that’s nonsense! We’ve been through so much! We had that… whole battle with the Blues for the something-or-other, and then we set off that bomb thingy, and we got blasted through time, and we met an alien, and that guy got pregnant!”

“According to this, that is… scenario three.”

“ _Three_?!”

“Why us, though?”

“Let me see, let me see, the uh… ‘bases are outfitted with matching weapons and vehicles to ensure long conflict and are staffed by… low-level operatives?!’”

“Hey, who’s that report calling low-level? Stupid report. Punch it.”

“‘The candidates for Red and Blue squads will be culled from enlisted army ranks based on low test scores and poor field skills so as not to be missed on our-’”

“That actually _does_ sound like me. But what about you, I thought you were smart? Did you have low test scores, too?”

“Hey, those time limits aren’t fair! It should be important that I _know_ the information, not how fast I know it!”

“Geez, guess I hit a nerve.”

“And don’t even get me started on the number two pencils.”

“Well Sarge, I always said Command was full of- …Sarge?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fight scenes are still hard.
> 
> but anyway, my self-proclaimed "half-assed beta reader" decided to provide me a handy FAQ for any plot-holes you all might be confused about during that scene:
> 
> Q: church doesn't need the chip, though. he can jump bodies, can't he?  
> A: the canon surrounding that is very vague and littered with plot holes, so i keep it simple. no, he can't jump bodies, because he has an actual UNSC data chip, now. the only way tex "jumps into" meta is through the armour power transfer. not because the chip doesn't matter.
> 
> Q: why didn't meta just take the chip instead of the helmet?  
> Q: and couldn't church and tex just stop him if he got them by locking down his armour?  
> A: because meta would have had wash's helmet, the armour lock wouldn't work with the rest of his armour. probably not canon, but fuck it, there's no evidence against it. so meta didn't take just the chip BECAUSE he didn't want church and tex to stop him.
> 
> if you have any other questions, feel free to ask! see you in a couple days :)


	10. Chapter 10

“Tex, hold on a second!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Um, yeah, don’t know if I mentioned this before, but I’ve kind of had psychic visions about this place? I thought it was Valhalla, at first, but I guess it turns out it was here. Probably should have told you this earlier.”

“Yes, you should have told me this earlier.”

“Well I’m telling you now, does that count?”

“Do you _think_ it counts?”

“Nah, probably not.”

“You’re not psychic, genius. You’re just remembering. You’ve been here, before. We all were. This is where they held Alpha. After a few of us Freelancers went rogue, we compared notes and pieced together what they were doing to him. I convinced them to come back; break him out.”

“Woah, you were in charge of the break-in?”

“I couldn’t just let them _destroy_ him; he was being _tortured_. The Director even started to use some of the other A.I. against him. Think about that. Turning his own pieces against him? It’s sick. Gamma and Omega would fabricate scenarios where he was designed to fail. And they made it seem like his failures were hurting all of the people he cared about, and there was nothing he could do about it. It drove him mad. Broke him down even more.”

“But you came back. You saved him.”

“No, I didn’t. It was too late. By the time I got to him, he was already long gone. I don’t even think he recognized me. I failed. Only in my case, it really _was_ my fault.”

—

“He sure was rammed pretty hard with that thing, wasn’t he?”

“Not the time, Donut.”

“What’s not?”

“Just… nevermind.”

Washington groans, coming back to consciousness to - once again - the feeling of intense, unbearable pain, and thinks, _this is going to get old fast_.

“Hey Wash, be careful…”

“Yeah, Wash, you took quite the pounding! You better take it easy, or you’re not going to be able to sit right for _weeks_!”

“Seriously, Donut, what the hell.”

“…Donut..?” Washington mumbles, forcing his eyes open.

Then immediately shuts his eyes again when he sees two helmets - pink and purple - hovering over him. “Oh, dear lord.”

“…Wash?”

Washington cracks his eyes open again and sees Church between Donut and Doc, hovering nervously. Tex is beside him, too, looking away with folded arms.

Washington starts sitting up, but is stopped by Doc’s hand on his chest. He freezes, looks down at Doc’s hand, looks back up at Doc, and says, “If you continue touching me you’re going to lose that hand.”

Doc huffs and replies, “I was just going to make sure you took it slow, since, you know, you shouldn’t pull at the stitches and bandages that _I_ spent _hours_ fixing you up with, but _okay_.”

“…Oh,” Washington says, feeling like an asshole. So he respects Doc’s wishes and sits up slowly, and yeah, feels a tug on his stomach, and a strain on his shoulder. He hesitates, letting reality sink in, and then looks down at himself and notices he’s wearing nothing but his boxer-briefs.

He looks up at Donut, Doc, Church, and Tex, and says, “Um?!”

“Nobody knew how many injuries you had,” Doc explains sheepishly. “We had to strip you to make sure I covered everything. Sorry.”

“It’s… fine…” Washington mumbles, feeling his face turn bright red as he tries to casually cover his crotch with his hands, curling in on himself as best his stomach injury will allow. “Can I have my armour back?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Doc replies.

Donut bounces up and heads off to the side, where Washington’s armour is piled up. He returns with Washington’s under-suit and holds it out proudly. “I stitched up the holes in it for you!”

Washington takes the suit and runs his thumb over the surprisingly clean stitches where the holes used to be, on the stomach and the shoulder.

“It’s definitely not a permanent fix. Those under-suits are _way_ more complicated than I’m used to,” Donut carries on. “But I’m _very_ familiar with holes, so I knew just what to do until you could get a new under-suit!”

Washington looks up at Donut, eyebrows furrowed. “…Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it!” Donut gives Washington a little salute. “Church told us when we got here about how you saved him from the Meta, so I felt really bad about holding that petty grudge about you shooting me and stuff. It’s really the least I could do!”

“I…” Washington looks over at Church, who gives him a ‘don’t look at me’ shrug. Then he turns back to Donut and sighs. “I’m sorry I shot you.”

“Aw, that’s in the past now, buddy, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Donut then shifts his weight and puts a hand on his hip, gesturing enthusiastically and rather… flamboyantly towards Washington’s face with his other hand. “Speaking of head, how do you keep your hair that soft? No matter how much conditioner I use, mine still goes all crazy! What’s your secret?”

Washington slowly reaches his un-injured arm up to run through his hair. “I don’t…”

This time, when he looks over at Church, it’s less confusion and more desperation.

“Hey, Donut,” Church says, teleporting his avatar over to Donut’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go scavenge the temples for some supplies while Wash gets dressed and everything.”

Donut nods. “Okie Dokie!”

He skips off, dragging a protesting Doc - “I should stay with Wash and make sure he’s okay!” - with him, and Washington breathes a sigh of relief once both of them are gone.

Then he looks up at Church and Tex and says, “Catch me up.”  Church explains, “After you put your helmet on, I locked down your armour and the biofoam applied automatically. Doc and Donut arrived an hour or so after, in a Jeep, because they wanted to see if we found Epsilon. Leave it to them to accidentally save the day just by being nosey. Anyway, Doc - surprisingly - fixed you up.”

Washington asks, “How long have I been out?”

“Six hours,” Church replies. Washington huffs and struggles to stand, wincing with pain as he does so. “Hey- hey, Wash, come on, man, chill out! We still don’t know where Epsilon is, we’re not in a rush.”

With a frustrated grumble, Washington manages to stand, and starts climbing into his under-suit. “Well, _I’m_ in a rush to get my clothes on, so if you could just let me do that, that would be great.”

“Hey,” Tex finally speaks up, appearing at Washington’s side. “I don’t know why stopping Meta didn’t work, this time. I guess maybe he built up some kind of resistance… I don’t know. Point is, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you-” Washington cuts himself off with a pained grunt as he slides his under-suit up over the bandaged, stitched up knife wound on his shoulder. “You apologized before. It’s fine, I never should have let myself put my guard down.”

_Never should have let myself trust you_ , is the unspoken truth behind the statement, and even though Washington doesn’t say it, he can tell they both know what he means.

“Regardless,” Washington continues, glancing over at Meta’s dead body. “It’s over, now.”

—

“Go away!”

“Sarge, what is all this?”

“Simmons, didn’t you hear? We’re cannon fodder. Practice! Well, if I’m the leader of junk, I may as well have a base _made out_ of junk! Pretty appropriate, right?!”

“Looks like shit.”

“That was rhetorical, dirtbag.”

“Well, Sir, I think this is an excellent strategy. The Blues will never-”

“Blues? Simmons, don’t you get it, yet? Grif was right all along!”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t call me that any more.”

“Sarge, this place is one lie after another. We don’t know if-”

“Oh, we know. _I_ know. You wanna fool yourself, go ahead.”

“You’re just upset, Sir.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“What? Call you what?”

“‘Sir.’ From now on, you call me by my name. Sarge. Or S-Dog. I’m not in charge anymore. I quit.”

“…You… what?”

“Uh-oh. I get the feeling somebody else’s world just got rocked.”

—

“Between the three of us, we have to know where he is,” Washington says, now fully armoured and propped up in the back of the Jeep. “Church, is there _anywhere_ you can think of that’s especially important to you and Tex.”

“I don’t know,” Church huffs. “I can’t remember anything, man!”

“Well, what’s- what’s your earliest memory of her?”

“My earliest memory of her?” Church repeats, then laughs bitterly. “Her making fun of me for getting pantsed in high school. But that’s clearly not right, is it? So fuck it.”

Tex snickers, “Still an awesome first memory to have, though.”

Washington looks over to Doc and Donut, who are standing together about twenty feet away, chatting about something. “And what do we do with them? Wherever Epsilon is, it’s probably going to be unsafe. I can’t be babysitting when we go in there, especially not in my current condition.”

“Trust me, buddy,” Church says. “They’ll be fine. Doc and Donut have this uncanny ability to survive pretty much anything.”

Washington grunts, his hand hovering over his stomach. “Don’t we all.”

After a brief silence, Church throws his hands up in the air and cries, “God dammit! This is so fucking frustrating! Why can’t I remember anything?!”

“Oh, quit your bitching,” Tex waves her hand dismissively. “I swear, if I have to spend any more time with you two whiny cockbites, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Washington narrows his eyes. “I’m not whiny.”

Tex replies, mockingly, “‘Wah, wah, we’re at a dead end and can’t find Epsilon, how will we _ever_ complete our mission, now?!’ Boo fucking hoo. If we’re going to get _anything_ done, you two both need to suck it up and put on your big-boy pants.”

Church says, “I can’t wear pants.”

Tex replies, “Leonard Church, I am _this_ close.”

“I mean it, I seriously can’t,” Church tilts his head down and mutters, softly, “I’m kinda depressed about it.”

“Well, what do _you_ suggest we do?” Washington snaps at her, expressing his bad mood by aggressively sliding his ammo clip into his rifle.

“Process of elimination,” Tex explains. “We put our heads together, think of any places that would be important to Epsilon - to _Alpha_ \- and we make a list of possible locations he could be.”

“What if they’re somewhere we don’t know?”

“Making a list of places we _do_ will at least help jog Church’s memory.”

Church says, “I’m in.”

“Alright,” Washington sighs. “Well, there’s obviously the Mother of Invention, but that’s out.”

“Blood Gulch,” Church offers, but then says, “Oh, no, wait, Epsilon wouldn’t know about that.”

Tex hums thoughtfully. “What about the crash site of the M.O.I.? Didn’t they turn that into a facility?”

Washington raises his eyebrow. “They did?”

Tex whirls on Church and asks, “Church, do you remember anything associated with ice? Snow?”

“Uh… I mean, there was the base I was stationed at before Blood Gulch,” Church shrugs.

Tex and Washington exchange a glance.

“You were never stationed at any Simulation Bases before Blood Gulch,” Tex tells Church. “You were in the ship, then in another Freelancer facility that I couldn’t locate, and then you were put into Blood Gulch.”

“But- I mean- I was,” Church stammers. “You showed up and killed everyone there, so I got moved.”

Tex shakes her head. “That never happened.”

Washington says, “Tell us everything you remember about this ‘base.’”

“Well, I mean, there wasn’t much to look at,” Church shrugs. “There was lots of ice, and lots of snow, and it was fucking cold, and there were giant cliffs everywhere.”

“And you said I showed up there,” Tex says. “You remember me being there, in your memories.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Tex gives Washington a look that, even though she has her helmet on, Washington can tell is very pointed. “The crash site.”

“Here I was thinking it would be his _earliest_ memories that would be the most prominent,” Washington says slowly, shaking his head. “But really it was…”

“…Alpha’s final memories of me,” Tex says, looking over to Church. “When we had to say goodbye.”

—

“Tex, stop. Where are we going?”

“There’s only one person left who knows what happened to me. The Director.”

“The Director- nobody knows who he is.”

“I can think of two people who might know. Wash and the Meta.”

“Wash and the Meta? Are you kidding me? Tex, forget all this. What if they don’t even know?”

“Then I get to kill Wash and Meta. If I can’t find the Director, I’ll just dismantle everything he ever built.”

“Tex, I think the Director built all this for _you_.”

“…Ugh. Even more reason to burn it all to the ground.”

“Facing Wash and Meta is suicide, even if we knew where they were. We _don’t_. How the hell are you gonna find them?”

“They’ll find us.”

“Oh, so, what, we just hole up? And wait for them to come without ever even knowing when that’s gonna be?”

“No. They’ll come now.”

“How? Are you just gonna call them on the phone?”

“…Something like that.”

_Blam!_

“…Tex?”

“I needed you to come. Sheila said the recovery beacon wouldn’t activate until we left the storage area.”

“…Tex?”

“I didn’t _ask_ to be paired with you. I didn’t _want_ to come back. But I’m here now, so I’m gonna put an end to all this.”

“Tex, I would have _helped_ you!”

“You can’t even help _yourself_. That’s why you made me, Church. You made me to take on all the things you can’t handle. Just like you always have. Well guess what? I’m gonna handle it. Wash and Meta will be coming now. I have some things to get ready.”

“Tex… why are you doing this?”

“Funny you should ask. That’s _exactly_ what I plan to find out.”

—

“Oh, no you don’t,” Doc says sternly, staring up at Washington from the ground, with his hands on his hips.

Washington, who is standing on the back of the Jeep like always, gripping the turret, stares down at him, unamused, and asks, “What’s the problem?”

“You’re going to tear yourself back open in that position, once we get moving!” Doc cries. “We’re in the desert, and we have to go to some ice place. It’s going to be a long drive. Your body can’t handle that motion and energy it’s going to take to stand for that long!”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know what I’m talking about, Wash,” Doc says, a pout in his voice. “I’m a medical professional!”

Church appears to say, “Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that.”

“Well, I’m a medical _officer_ ,” Doc declares. “I took an oath! And I would be going against that oath if I let a patient travel in that position after suffering the injuries you did, Agent Washington.”

“You know what? Fine,” Washington steps off the back of the Jeep, wincing in pain as his feet hit the sand, the impact jostling his weak body. “I don’t have time to argue with you. But _somebody_ has to be up there. There are three of us.”

“I’ll do it!” Donut pipes up, raising his hand high in the air and waving it back and forth excitedly. “I can totally handle it. My hammies are rock hard!”

Washington gives Donut a once-over. “What about your foot?”

“Oh, that silly thing?” Donut sticks his right leg out and wiggles it around. “It’s fine. I’ve been penetrated plenty of times, before, this wasn’t anything new. Now, if that bullet was any bigger? Hoooo boy, then we might have trouble. But even still, it usually winds up feeling _much_ better in no tim-”

“Okay!” Washington cuts Donut off. “Donut gets the job. Thank you for volunteering, Donut.”

“No problem-o, Wash!”

So Washington allows Donut to take the turret position, and as he’s walking around to the passenger side of the Jeep, he quietly asks Church, “Why do you like him, again?”

“You get used to it.”

Suddenly, a beacon triggers in Washington’s helmet.

“What’s that?” Doc asks, tilting his head curiously.

“Whatever it is, make it stop!” Donut wails. “It’s so annoying!”

Church appears at Washington’s side, concern pulsing against Washington’s skull. “Is that-”

“Yeah,” Washington nods. “It’s Epsilon.”

Tex asks, “Where is he?”

Washington glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Right where we thought he would be.”

Then he nods at Doc and says, “Drive.”

—

“Sergeant, Sergeant!”

“What do you want, Blue?”

“I need your help!”

“ _Our_ help?”

“Yes. Church is hurt. They must have gotten to him and Tex!”

“They got Tex? Good. That just means she won’t be able to beat the hell out of us anymore.”

“No, we have to rescue them.”

“ _Rescue them_? Are you nuts? No one told them to leave, they’re on their own.”

“But they’ll die! Sergeant, please!”

“Uh, hey dude, I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this yet, but if you wanna convince Sarge to do anything, I don’t think the best argument is, ‘The Blues might die if we don’t.’”

“Cowboy up, Caboose. I’m comin’ with you.”

“What?”

“I said I’m helping him.”

“Who, the Blue guy? Why on Earth would you ever help a Blue for no reason?”

“We need some weapons. How’d your equipment test go, Simmons?”

“About as well as you would expect.”

“Huh, that’s too bad.”

“Well I’m not going, and you can’t make me. You quit, remember? I don’t take orders from you anymore, and besides, this whole command structure thing was bullshit, anyway. We all know _that_ , now.”

“I’m not tellin’ you to go. I’m not even askin’.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I’m goin’. That’s it. You wanna come, come on. But I don’t expect you to. Simmons will probably tell you that, statistically, some of us will probably die.”

“All of us.”

“ _All_ of us will probably die. But that’s not what’s important. Let me ask you two a question… Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

“…”

“Um… it does seem to be one of life’s great mysteries…”

“No, I mean _you_! What are _you_ doing here? You always act like you wanna quit, but hell, you could’ve left whenever you wanted. No one would have stopped you. So why are you here? And you, Simmons.”

“Me?”

“You say you wanna be in charge. They would have given you your own squad a dozen times over. You know it, and I know it. But you’re _still here_. And you, Tucker. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re actually good at being a soldier.”

“I am?”

“I know you like to make your rude comments, pretend like it all doesn’t matter. But an entire alien race chose _you_ to be their hero! So why are _you_ here? And Caboose… uuuhhh… it’s good to see you.”

“Thanks. I’m really enjoying the speech so far.”

“Maybe you’re all here because this is the only place you fit in. Maybe you’re here because you don’t have anywhere else to go. Maybe you’re all here, because deep down, you _want_ to be here. The reason doesn't matter. What matters is that you’re here! For all we know, Tex and Church are dead. That means we’re the only ones who know what’s happened; the only ones who can prevent them from covering it up. So the way I figure it, these Freelancer guys wanna _use_ us _,_ Take us away from out families, and send us all over the daggum galaxy just to test if their agents are ready for the big fight? Well, I guess I’m interested in showing them _exactly_ what a big fight is all about! Time to clean the slate. So… I’m not ordering you to go. I ain’t even asking. You do what you gotta do, Private Grif.”

“…Hhhh. I’ll go get my car keys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ myself: "why did you bring donut back? you can't write donut. what is the matter with you?"
> 
> anyway, this was definitely a shorter, quieter chapter, but i'm trying this cool new thing called 'pacing' so forgive me lol.
> 
> let me know what you think! i hope you're excited for more :)


	11. Chapter 11

“Fifty-seven bottles of beer on the wall, fifty-seven bottles of beeeer!”

Washington rubs his hand over his visor and sighs heavy enough to hurt his injuries, but not nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of Doc and Donut’s singing.

“Take one down, pass it around…”

He can feel himself falling asleep, his body taking hold of his sleep deprivation in a last-ditch effort to escape the pain throbbing against every square inch of his skin. But he won’t sleep - he can’t.

“Fifty-six bottles of beer on the wall!”

His level of apathy towards the Epsilon nightmares has reached an acceptable point, where he is no longer afraid of going to sleep. Is no longer afraid of waking up not knowing who he is. But now, every time he closes his eyes, he feels the phantom pain of a blade in his stomach, sees his knife drive into the forehead of the shell of his best friend.

“Fifty-six bottles of beer on the wall, fifty-six bottles of beeeer!”

He wonders if this is what his life has come to. He’s cheated death through betrayal, cheated imprisonment through manipulation. Like Sisyphus, he’s once more pushing a heavy boulder up a steep hill, only to see it tumble back down right as it reaches the top.

Only to repeat the process.

“Take one down, pass it around…”

One nightmare fades, another rears its head. One mission complete, another one on the horizon. A man paying for his crimes by being forced to repeat the same frustrating pattern over, and over, and over again.

“Fifty-five bottles of beer on the wall!”

Like this stupid. Fucking. Song.

Washington’s heavy eyelids protest as he lifts them open wide, staring out at the passing landscape. His HUD says it’s finally cooled off, and it looks like they’re traveling through a forest area. In the back of his mind, he can feel Church and Tex’s energy, but they must be either silent, or keeping their conversations to themselves.

Occasionally, Doc will pause his singing - Donut carrying on blissfully on his own - and check up on Washington’s state. Washington will be fine, but he knows he can’t handle another fight.

He runs his palm lightly over the capture unit, still rhythmically pulsing, sparking every once in a while. He thinks, he doesn’t want to take Epsilon. If there was a way for everything to work out without him having to turn Epsilon - and Alpha and Beta too, most definitely - over to the Chairman, he would take it in a heartbeat.

But life doesn’t work out like that. The boulder will never balance.

Donut whines, “How much longer until we get there?”

Doc replies, after checking the Jeep’s GPS, “Few more hours, probably.”

“Can we stop?”

“No,” Washington answers harshly. “I dealt with that last year, and won’t this time. First it’s a bathroom break, then we’re stopping to take pictures of ridiculous road signs, and then next thing you know, we’re barely even driving, anymore.”

“You’re no fun,” Donut scolds.

“This isn’t _supposed to be_ fun,” Washington snaps. “It’s a _mission_. In case that’s still somehow a new concept to you Simulation Troopers, let me explain. A _mission_ is an important assignment carried out for military reasons, and the military is not for _fun_. If you wanted fun, you should have stayed a civilian and gotten another job.”

“I dunno,” Tex says, appearing at Washington’s side. “I think the military’s a _ton_ of fun. What’s better than getting paid to smash heads in? Nothing, that’s what.”

Doc says, “I think everyone in this car has a different opinion on what counts as ‘fun.’ I like team-building exercises. Those are always super fun!”

Church appears, now. “Even the team-building exercise you put us through in Blood Gulch? ‘Cause if I remember right, you wound up taped naked to the flagpole.”

Doc huffs, “Right, I ‘wound up’ there. You and Tucker had _nothing_ to do with that.”

Washington sighs. “Okay, I give in. Who the hell is Tucker?”

Tex says, “You don’t want to know.”

“Tucker’s the only tolerable member of Blue Team,” Church explains. “Also, while we’re on the subject, _my_ idea of fun is stripping annoying pacifists and taping them naked to flagpoles.”

“Who’d have guessed,” Doc grumbles.

“You realize _you’re_ on Blue Team, right?” Tex asks Church. “But you called Tucker the _only_ tolerable member.”

“I know I’m not tolerable,” Church replies with a shrug. “Even God is aware of his mistakes. Like cockroaches. And the Holocaust.”

Doc adds, “And veganism.”

Donut pipes up, “And the patriarchy!”

Tex asks, “Did you just compare yourself to God?”

Washington says, “Of course he did.”

—

“It ties into the ‘if a tree falls in the woods,’ thing,” Church explains, two hours into the trip, as he and Tex are discussing the worst superpower. “Turning invisible while no one is looking at you is useless! You’re already invisible to everyone, anyway.”

“It depends if security cameras count as someone looking at you,” Tex argues. “Say you broke into somewhere in the middle of the night, completely invisible. You’d never get caught!”

“Leave it to _you_ to find that loophole.”

Tex rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if you remember, Church, but I could _actually_ turn invisible for a while. I know _all_ the loopholes.”

Donut and Doc continue singing, “Eighty-three bottles of beer on the wall, eighty-three bottles of beeeer!”

Washington gets the sudden urge to kill everyone in this vehicle and then himself, Epsilon be damned. Can’t go back to prison if he’s dead.

“Hey, I heard that,” Church tells him, teleporting in front of his helmet. “Stop thinking fucked-up things.”

Doc asks, “What’s he thinking about?”

“Murder-suicide.”

“Yeesh,” Doc glances at Washington. “You gotta lighten up, Wash.”

Washington replies, “No, I don’t. Stop telling me what to do, and keep driving. And Church?”

“‘Sup.”

“For the hundredth time, get out of my head, and stay out.”

Church gives Washington a sheepish salute and then vanishes from in front of Washington’s face.

Tex takes his place and asks, “Hey, who do you think injured Epsilon?”

“Probably whatever Freelancer staff are left guarding that facility,” Washington replies. “Or UNSC guards, since most Freelancer staff are in prison or have been discharged. Either way, it’s probably just a skeleton crew. Easy to take out.”

“I sure hope so,” Tex mutters. “I could put myself into Donut’s armour to try and help him out, but he’s still _Donut_. And Doc’s useless-”

“Hey!”

Tex stares at him in silence for a long moment. “Can you fight?”

“I took an oath to-”

“Yes or no.”

Doc looks away and grumbles, “ _No_.”

“Exactly. So Doc’s useless,” Tex gestures to Washington’s stomach. “And as much as you hate to admit it, you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

Church appears next to Tex. “It’d be way better if we had bodies.”

“Well, it’d be better if _I_ had a body,” Tex corrects. “You’d just be a waste of space. No offense.”

“…How am I _not_ supposed to take offense to that?”

“Look, I’m sure we can all agree that life would be better if you two were out of my head,” Washington states dryly. “But I don’t know where to find bodies for you two, and even if I _did_ , we wouldn’t have time to go get them, at this point. Maybe at this facility, we can find a location, but until then, you’re stuck with me.”

Donut leans forward, his head between Doc’s and Washington’s in the front seat. “Someone can take over _my_ body, if they want! I’m cool with people being inside me.”

Tex says, “I was about to accept that offer, until you worded it like that.”

Church elbows Tex cheekily and says, “Come on, Tex, wouldn’t you _love_ to be inside Donut?”

“I take it back, let Church have a body, too,” Tex tells Washington. “So I can kick him in the codpiece.”

Church makes an ‘eep’ sound and flickers out again, Tex’s smugness a familiar tingle up Washington’s spine. Then they drive on in silence for a while - well, aside from Doc and Donut, who pick their singing back up at sixty-nine bottles.

—

They finally have to stop, because Donut brings up a slight pain in his foot that makes Washington feel guilty enough to let them pull over. The fact that Donut happened to mention his foot pain right as they’re driving along a beautiful lake with a nice view, and is now sitting happily with Doc on a log by the water, makes Washington think he was lying.

“He was definitely lying,” Church says, swinging his legs back and forth as he sits on Washington’s shoulder-plate. “But hey, the view’s not bad. Smart guy.”

“This isn’t a road trip,” Washington grumbles.

“It’s not gonna benefit anyone if we get there and everyone’s bitchy,” Church points out. “Besides, Epsilon’s injured, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Washington says. “What if the soldiers that took him out realize what he really is? If they find out he’s Epsilon - and hell, he’ll probably _tell them_ \- then they simply turn him over to the Chairman, and all of this has been for nothing.”

“…Oh,” Church says. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I never thought of that.”

Awkward silence.

Washington sighs. “I don’t want to take Epsilon to the Chairman.”

Church looks up at him. “Really?”

Washington nods. “But if we don’t get to him, soon, whoever hurt him is going to give him up. And then we’ll never get him back.”

“…Yeah.”

Awkward silence.

Then Washington says, “You know, I've been thinking about what you said back in the desert. How you feel like you don’t have the right to be upset about what happened to you.”

“Oh, uh, that?” Church scoffs. “Pssh, forget about that, I was just… talking. You know how I talk a lot about meaningless shit.”

“I guess I just want to know,” Washington says slowly, then pauses. “…Are you okay, Church?”

Awkward silence.

And this time, it lasts a while. Church disappears, not like a flicker, more like a fade. One minute, he’s on Washington’s shoulder, kicking his little legs up and down, and then he becomes more and more translucent until he disappears altogether.

But Washington knows Church can still hear him, so he keeps talking.

“I want to help you, Church,” Washington says solemnly. “That mission last year wasn’t just to avenge Epsilon, and my friends, and myself. It was for you, too. What they did to you… they broke the law. They hurt you, tormented you for years, and years. And it’s taken its toll. I can tell.

“I said I didn’t want you to meet Epsilon, and I still don’t want you to, now,” Washington continues. “Believe me, I understand why you want to. You want answers. So does Epsilon, that’s why he’s doing all of this. I know what it’s like to repress your memories to the point where you can’t remember who you are, sometimes, but what the Director did…

“He took away your agency. He took away any chance you had at introspection, any chance you had at recovery, by taking pieces of yourself from you,” Washington stares out across the lake and swallows hard before continuing. “And then, on our mission to bring down the Project, I destroyed all of those pieces before you could meet them. Before you could get yourself back.

“It left you empty. All of it. And I can’t relate, but I can understand. You’re stuck in this rut where you _know_ something’s wrong, you can _feel_ your own pain, but you can’t find the root of it. So you can’t _heal_ ,” Washington sighs. “It’s like what you said when we first left the prison. We both know what it’s like to chase something we can never find for years, and years. It’s frustrating, upsetting, leaves you depressed and hollow.

“But Church, you have to understand,” Washington takes a deep breath. “Finding Epsilon, knowing what happened, embracing your trauma the way every person has to in order to recover from it… it could _kill you_. Rampancy has four stages, and the second is the one most A.I. can’t survive through.

“And with the abuse you’ve suffered, with what has happened to you… you were forced into the first stage far too early in your life. In a way, the Director saved your life. By taking the memories of your mistreatment away from you, he kept you from falling apart. Instead, Epsilon was the one that unraveled.”

Church reappears, flickering darker blue before stabilizing. “Inside your head.”

Washington nods. “And I’m worried that if you get your memories _back_ …”

“I’ll enter rampancy at a quicker rate than another A.I. would,” Church finishes. Washington nods again. “Remember what _you_ said when we first left the prison?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“You told me I wasn’t supposed to have a future,” Church says, then sighs. “I was supposed to _die_ in that room.”

“But you’re here.”

“But I’m here,” Church confirms. “But I won’t be for much longer, no matter what happens.”

Washington’s voice softens, “Church…”

“I’m gettin’ old, sonny,” Church jokes, but his voice is hollow. “I’ve been thinking about that, y’know. I’m gonna die soon, no matter what I do. And it ain’t gonna be pretty, with all that rampancy shit.”

Washington says, “You have to live what life you have left.”

Church laughs dryly. “I’ve never been very good at living.”

Awkward silence.

“I’ve kinda been making a bucket list, though,” Church says, tone light. “It’s not long - I’ve never really wanted to do much with my life - but I’ve got some things.”

Washington raises an eyebrow. “Really? What do you want to do.”

“Ah, you know, the usual,” Church shrugs. “Skydiving, maybe see the Grand Canyon.”

“Church.”

“Okay, okay,” Church huffs. “Party pooper. I want to see the guys, again. Tucker, Grif, fuck it, even Caboose. My friends.”

“We’re going to see them, now,” Washington points out.

“Yeah, gonna check that box real soon,” Church scoffs. “And then, after being around them for about seven minutes, I’m probably gonna wonder why that was on the list to begin with. Fuckin’ dickheads, all of ‘em.”

“What else?”

“I want to go home,” Church says with a sigh. “Back to Blood Gulch. Ya know, might as well die how I lived. Standing around in a box canyon in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of insufferable morons.”

Washington cracks a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

“And I want to know the truth. Everything.”

Washington looks at him with a frown. “Church…”

“I have to know, Wash,” Church says, tone far more serious than Washington has ever heard it. “The universe gave me a second chance to find out about myself before I die. If I can meet Epsilon, I can know. And hey,” He shrugs. “Maybe, if I can find out and put it behind me, I can spend the last few months of my life happier than the last six years of it.”

“Unlikely, with the stages of rampancy.”

“Well alright, way to take the wind outta my sails,” Church folds his arms. “Douche.”

Washington holds his hands up. “Sorry.”

Awkward silence.

Washington asks, “Are you scared?”

“Of dying? Naw,” Church laughs under his breath. “I’m kind of an expert at dying, dude. Doesn’t quite phase me, anymore.”

“Of rampancy.”

“…Little bit,” Church admits, but then waves his hand dismissively. “Slowly devolving into insanity wasn’t really on my radar ’til now. But y’know. I’ll wing it.”

Awkward silence.

“To answer your question,” Church says from inside Washington’s helmet, after Washington stands and calls Doc and Donut back over to the Jeep. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good,” Washington says under his breath, jumping into the Jeep beside Doc.

And then they’re off once more.

—

Washington thinks, it’s a good sign that Epsilon’s recovery beacon is still going. That means he’s still unconscious, which means whoever hurt him doesn’t know what he is, yet. He knows it’s only a matter of time, but a thin layer of snow is visible on the ground around them, now, and they’re getting close.

Doc and Donut, probably sensing their location drawing near, have stopped singing. Stopped speaking, altogether.

Washington looks at the both of them and asks, “Are you two alright?”

“Liiiiittle nervous about what we’re driving into,” Doc admits.

“Yeah, what if we die?” Donut asks, voice high-pitched and anxious.

“We’ll be fine,” Washington promises. “It’s just going to be low-level operatives. I could take them out with my eyes closed. Donut, you’re going to be manning the turret, so nobody will be able to get near you. And Doc… just…”

“Yeah? What?”

Washington sighs. “Just stay behind me, and you’ll be fine.”

Doc tilts his head and says, skeptically, “No offense, Wash, but I don’t really trust you.”

Washington huffs. “Then hide behind a rock, or something. I don’t care, as long as you don’t die,” quietly, he mutters, “Don’t need that on my conscious, on top of everything else.”

—

When they reach the facility, Epsilon’s recovery beacon is still blaring. They turn a corner, and Washington sees him - in blue, Freelancer armour - lying back on the snow. Completely alone.

“Stop the car,” Washington demands quickly, and Doc rolls to a stop. “…This isn’t right, I don’t like this. How did he get hurt? Why isn’t anyone helping him?”

Tex says, “I say it’s a trap. Look, those walls there? Perfect for a sniper. We walk up to him, and then-”

“-We’re boxed in, nowhere to go,” Washington finishes, tensing up and looking around for anyone.

It’s not just a skeleton crew.

Doc asks, “You think the Reds are trying to ambush us?”

“The Reds?” Washington laughs dryly. “No, this is an actual military tactic. We drilled it all the time in training.”

Tex says, “Yeah. Whoever set this up is a Freelancer.”

“Aw, man!” Donut cries, “How the heck do we take out a Freelancer?!”

Church appears, crying out, “Fuck!”

Washington asks, “What is it?”

Church says, quickly, “We’ve got ten explosives surrounding the Jeep. Whoever set this up must have known we were coming, and knew you would recognize this! We gotta get away, now!”

Doc and Donut both start screaming. Washington sees Doc jump out of the Jeep and run to hide behind a pile of boulders, safe from the explosion. Washington jumps out himself, right as all the bombs flicker on, blinking in the snow.

He starts running away, but then looks up and sees Donut still standing in the back, cowering behind the Jeep’s turret.

“Donut!” Washington roars. “What are you doing?! Get out of there! Run!”

_Wash! What’re you doing?! Get in here! Use your jetpack!_

“You said I’d be safe behind the turret!” Donut wails. “I-I don’t wanna get killed by a Freelancer!”

_I-I don’t wanna end up like Georgia!_

Washington grips his hands into fists and says, through his teeth,

“ _Oh, for God’s sake_.”

He jumps up onto the back of the Jeep and grabs Donut’s chest-plate with both his hands, shoving him outside of the circle of explosives as hard as he can.

Church says, “Uh, Wash?”

Washington looks down and sees the final light flick on with a loud _beep_ , creating a perfect circle around them.

“Oh, son of a bitch.”

Tex says, sarcastically, “Well _this_ is going great so far.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they explode.
> 
> remember when i said that eventually the updates will catch up to me? well, they have. i'm picking away at chapter 12, the final chapter before the epilogue, but a) it's the final chapter, so it will probably be longer and b) i'm really trying to get it done as best as i can, so i'm not rushing it.
> 
> so, unfortunately, this will be the last regular every-other-day update. of course, i'll work on this every day, and i will make sure not to keep you guys waiting too long, but i just want to let you know where we're at. i really hope you guys like this chapter, and eagerly await the next! :)
> 
> thanks for the support, please don't hesitate to comment with any thoughts or questions, i love reading your feedback!


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